What You Want
by Rachel Greenwood
Summary: What if Rose were part of Cal's arrangement to get off the ship? How would she and Jack survive in New York with no money and nowhere to go? With Cal lurking near, misunderstandings, illness and hardships will the dream survive, or will their love collapse under the pressure?
1. Chapter 1

"I'm not going without you," she said, quietly but firmly. She held her head steady, her eyes on his, trying to appear stronger than she felt. "Rose, you have to go," he said.

"No, Jack."

"Yes. Rose, get on the boat," he said. His hands were on her shoulders; the need to push her toward safety struggled with the need to hold her. "No, Jack," she said again, shaking her head. "Get on the boat, Rose," he insisted. It was the closest he could come to a command. Cal's voice startled them both. "Yes, get on the boat, Rose," he boomed, appearing as if from nowhere. Rose stared at him, baffled and angered by his sudden intrusion. His features softened. "My God, look at you," he said, reaching for her. "You must be freezing. You look a fright." He grabbed the blanket from around her shoulders and shoved it toward Jack with a curt, "Here." He slipped out of his coat. "Put this one," he said, casting a quick glance at the crowd around them. A stunned Rose allowed the coat to be placed around her shoulders, but she recoiled from his touch. Jack shoved in front of his, almost pushing him back. "Rose, you have to go," he pleaded. "Now!"

"No!" she insisted. "Not without you!" Her hands moved across Jack's face and hair; she clutched at his shirt, as if letting go would mean losing him forever. "I'll be fine," Jack promised. "I'll get the next one." Rose shook her head. "Don't worry about me," he added. "I'm a survivor, all right. Go on!"

Cal's gaze moved from Rose to Jack. "I have an arrangement with an officer on the other side of the ship," he offered. "Jack and I can get off safely. Both of us."

"See?" Jack said. "Got my own boat to catch.

Rose shook her head. "No," she insisted.

"Rose—" Jack began.

"You know he's lying," she said. She pressed his hands. Jack opened his mouth only to close it again. "I'm not," Cal said, offended. Rose glanced over at him. "Do you really think so little of me, Rose?" he asked. Her voice was cold. "Yes," she replied. He drew in his breath sharply, holding back a response. "If you aren't lying," she continued, "Get me on the boat as well."

"What would be the point?" he scoffed. "All the boats are already letting women on."

"Then it won't be a problem," Rose said. She held Jack's hand tightly. "Rose, there's no need to do this," Jack said.

"Yes, there is," she answered. "I can't leave you." She looked up into his eyes. "I won't."

…..

Rose wrapped her arms around Jack as they settled into the boat. "You're trembling," she said. "I'm fine," he assured her. Unconvinced, she slipped out of Cal's coat and placed it around him. "What're you doing?" Jack said. "Rose, no—" His voice softened. "Here, let's share," he suggested. "It'll be warmer that way." Just then he realized he was still holding the blanket. Rose settled her head against his chest, her arms around him. Jack draped the blanket over them and returned the embrace, resting his chin on her head. Rose closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. It couldn't still be the same night. She felt as though weeks had passed since that morning, since the sunset, since declaring her intention to run away with Jack. It was such a bold statement to make, but she knew she had to do it. As she'd stood there, gazing into his eyes, she understood she could say anything to him.

Jack met Cal's glare with a look of indifference that silently asked, "What are you going to do about it?" Rose was in _his_ arms, and that's where she would stay.

The attempt to cocoon themselves against the cold was only partially successful. The cold still managed to creep in, sending shivers through them. Jack felt Rose's breathing begin to slow. "Don't go to sleep," he said, shaking her gently. Her murmur was indecipherable. "Rose, don't go to sleep," he said insistently. Her eyes fluttered open. He moved her into a sitting position. "Stay awake," he said.

"I just closed my eyes," she said, confused.

"You went to sleep," he replied. "You can't do that, Rose, alright?" She nodded. "It's so cold," she said, pressing closer to him. "Don't think about it," he told her. "Think about warm places. Think about…California."

"I've never been there."

"We're going, remember? You know, it never gets cold there," he explained. "You could spend the whole winter in L.A. and never see snow or even frost, sleep outside even."

"Sleep—outside?" Rose asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, on the beach, just find a spot high enough to avoid the tide and just camp out."

She hesitated. "Can we do that?"

"Sure," Jack promised. "If you like." He slowly stroked her cheek with his thumb. Letting her stay with him was crazy. Declaring his love for her was crazy. Living the way he did was so much harder than he'd made it out to be, and he wanted to protect her from the cold nights under bridges and the days without food. And what about all the other threats? Here was this beautiful, amazing women placing herself in his hands, trusting him, and what if he failed her? Maybe she wouldn't describe it that way—and he didn't doubt her strength—but that's how he saw it. The doubts should have been overwhelming. They should have cause him to send her right back to her mother and Cal, at least they would keep her warm and fed, but instead the doubts were just faint voices in the back of his mind. He trusted what was happening between them. It was right. As long as she wanted him, he would be there.

"What are you thinking about?" she said softly.

"Nothing," he answered.

They watched the ship go down in silence. Everyone in the boat held their breath when it split in half, when the mighty _Titanic_ was wrenched in two; the tension was palpable as it stood straight up before finally plunging into the sea. Rose's nails dug into Jack's arm through his shirt. He buried his face in her hair and tried to tell himself he couldn't hear the cries of those in the water. They were too far away; he couldn't even see them anymore. He hugged Rose tighter, pushing away thoughts of Fabrizo, Tommy, and the others. It wasn't time to deal with that, to question why he was safe when so many others were not.

Ca; sat stiffly, hunched forward, his chin in his hands. He couldn't take his eyes off the spot where the ship had been. All those reports and assurances of its unsinkability, and he had believed each one, scoffing at the idea of anything happening. And now, here he was, huddled, shivering, in a lifeboat, waiting for whatever would happen next.

Their boat took one person in from the water. Jack lifted Rose into his lap to make room. She lay in his arms like a doll, teeth chattering. He rubbed her arms in a vain effort to warm her. In the beam of the officer's flashlights, he saw how pale she was. Her eyes were dull and tired. She fought to keep them open. Jack had experienced cold like this before, usually with at least a coat of his own, but Rose never had. She had always been quickly shuttled from well-heated buildings into waiting carriages and cars, wrapped in wool and furs, and quickly shuttled back into warm rooms. Jack's clothes were dry now, but her dress, with its seemingly endless layers, had been thoroughly soaked when she rescued him. The top layer was still damp to the touch.

"Stay awake," he said, lifting her head again. "I know you're tired, but you've gotta stay awake."

"I'm so cold," she murmured. He blew on her hands and rubbed them between his. "We'll be warm soon," he reassured her. "Another ship'll come pick us up."

"What if it doesn't?"

"It will," he said. "When things like this happen, they make sure someone else knows about it so they can rescue the survivors." His voice caught on the word survivors. "We just have to wait. Think about something warm," he suggested again. "Like soup, you know, the way it makes you feel to come in from the cold to a bowl of hot soup?"

"No," she admitted. "I don't think I understood what cold is until now." She laughed mirthlessly. "I don't think I understood anything."

"Well, when they pick us up," he said, trying to remain optimistic, "We'll get some. When you take the first spoonful the heat moves all over your body, and you just feel _better_. And hot coffee. Just holding the mug gets your hands warm."

"I don't like coffee," she said.

"At all?"

She shook her head. "I don't like tea either."

"You can have a cup of plain boiled water then," he joked. She smiled. "It can't taste any worse than either of those," she said.

It was another two hours before the Carpathia arrived, but it felt more like two days. Grim murmurs were moving across the boat when a cry of, "It's here!" rang out. The murmurs increased in volume. Flashlights were shone toward the ship, and a feeling of relief swept through everyone in the boat, like a collective sigh, "We aren't going to die after all."

The sun was rising when their boat began unloading. Jack helped Rose to her feet. She clung to him for support. Her legs were stiff and numb from the cold. Jack's own limbs protested, but he remained steady. Rose tried to shrug off Cal's coat, but Jack stopped her. "It's too cold for that," he said. He glanced over his shoulder. Cal stood behind them, exhaustion and cold lining his face. He started to speak, but then thought better of it. He would come back to himself as soon as he had a hot meal and rested, but at that moment he could only watch them climb onto the rescue ship.

….

Rose could walk just fine after a few minutes. She and Jack were led to a deck already crowded with survivors, most from the third class. There were two lines for soup. "See?" Jack said, steering her toward the shorter one. "I told you we'd have soup." She accepted the steaming bowl gratefully. It burned her numb hands.

"I don't even feel hungry anymore," she said as they settled into an empty spot.

"You are," he assured her. "I don't feel it either, but I am too."

They ate in silence, savoring the flavor, but even more so, the warmth. Jack tipped his bowl up and drank the remainder. He grinned as Rose followed his example. "Feel better?" he asked. She nodded. "Yes," she said. She smiled, and there was light in her eyes again.

….

It was raining when they docked in New York. Dark clouds filled the sky, and the light drizzle quickly became a downpour. Rose held Jack's hand as they descended from the ship. She quickly glanced over her shoulder, certain she felt someone watching them, but neither her mother nor Cal were there. Part of her wondered what Cal told her mother. Had he told her she was still alive? At the same time, another part hoped she never found out where they were. Rose turned to Jack with a smile. "I said I'd get off the ship with you," she said. He squeezed her hand. "I never doubted you would," he said.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Now, we—" He searched for an answer. Neither of them had any money. It was cold and raining. Sleeping outside wasn't an option, and there was also the issue of food. What would they eat? Jack was saved from providing an answer by the sudden appearance of a man whose clothes were only slightly better than his own. He spoke with a thick Irish accent. "I've only got two left, and you look like you need 'em," he said, offering Jack two sheets of paper. "Two what?" Rose asked.

"Hotel vouchers," he answered. "I work for the Imperial Hotel. My boss sent me down here to offer rooms to some of the _Titanic_ survivors. You take these, and you'll have a place to sleep for a few days."

There was still the question of how to get food, but Jack silently sighed in relief. After a good night's sleep in a warm bed, he was sure he would think of something.

….

The Imperial Hotel did not live up to its name, although it was not the worst place Jack had stayed. The paint was old but intact. The floorboards squeaked. There was a general air of shabbiness about the place, but it was clear—and more importantly, it was warm.

The room they were shown to was small—tiny, by Rose's standards. There was a closet, a table and chair, and a bed that barely looked big enough to hold them both. A wave of exhaustion washed over Jack. Without hesitation, he began pulling off his shoes, eager to really sleep for the first time in days. Rose watched him strip while a jumble of emotions—fatigue, self-consciousness, and a spark of desire—fought within her. She slipped out of Cal's coat and her shoes but hesitated, her hands on the buttons of her dress. They were getting into bed together. This wasn't spontaneous, passion-fueled love-making; it was sleeping together, and that seemed almost more intimate. 

"You all right?" he asked, folding his shirt over the chair.

"Jack, will you help me?"

"Yeah."

She swept her hair aside. His fingers moved quickly. She sighed as the dress slipped to the floor. Jack's hands lingered for a moment on her back. "Was that all you needed?" he asked, finally.

"Yes."

He bent down and kissed her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Rose sucked in her breath, shocked by the force of her response. Before she could move, he was gone, climbing into bed. She hesitated for a moment before shedding the rest of her clothing and following him.

He fit perfectly in her arms, his face against her neck. She held him tightly, one hand in his hair. Her eyes burned. "I'm so tired," she said, yawning. Jack nuzzled her neck. "Don't think," he said. "Just go to sleep. Everything's all right now."


	2. Chapter 2

Jack crept around the room, making as little sound as possible. He dressed quickly, silently wishing for his bag and the clothes it contained. He would have given just about anything for a fresh outfit. He gathered Rose's clothes from the floor and tiptoed from the room. When he returned, wet clothes in hand, she was still asleep. He draped them across the radiator to dry. She stirred when he got close. He tucked the blankets around her. Her eyes cracked open. "Where are you going?" she murmured sleepily.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "Go back to sleep."

"Promise?"

"I promise." He bent down and kissed her cheek. She settled back into sleep with a sigh. He watched her for a moment before turning to go.

The early morning light was grey. A cold wind blew, and dark clouds threatened rain. Jack kept his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the chill. He'd briefly considered wearing Cal's coat but had decided against it. Jack would rather be cold than accept anything from Cal. Besides, a slight chill was the least of his problems. He still had to get money and food and clothes and everything else they would need. He had never felt so overwhelmed; life's necessities had never seemed so unobtainable.

_Stop it. _He quickened his pace. There was no reason to panic. _You'll never get anywhere thinking like that. _The first step was to find a job; once he did that, he was sure he could convince whoever was in charge to pay him at the end of the day. It wouldn't be the first time he had done so.

….

Sunlight streamed through the room's one window when Rose woke up. Blinking against the light, she rolled over and stretched her arms over her head. Despite the radiator's efforts, the room was still cold. She quickly burrowed back under the blankets. Jack's side of the bed was cold and empty. Where had he gone? She vaguely remembered hearing him say he would be back. Panic gathered within her. Would he really return?

"Of course he'll be back," she said with a shake of her head. "What is wrong with me? I trust him." Even so, waking up alone was still jarring.

….

"You sure you can handle this job?" The foreman, a burly man in his mid-thirties named Mike, eyed Jack with skepticism. "There's a lotta lifting involved."

"I can handle it," Jack said. He looked the older man into the eye and drew up to his full height. "I've done a lot of different jobs," he went on. "This won't be too different."

"Uh-huh. They tell you what the pay is?"

"$2 a day."

"Yeah, and it goes up if you get into the union. That something you'd be interested in?"

Jack chose his words carefully. "I just got here," he replied. "I'm not sure if I'll even stay in New York yet."

The other man grunted. "You got a wife?"

Jack grinned. "I do," he said proudly. Mike's features softened. "Me too," he said. "Best things in the world, ain't they?" Jack nodded. He clapped Jack on the back. "I guess you'll do then," he said.

"There's uh, something else I need to talk to you about," Jack said.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Do you pay everyone by the day, or at the end of the week? 'Cause I really need it by the day, at least for a while."

Mike studied Jack's slight frame, his worn clothes, and his earnest eyes. "We could probably work something out," he said."

…..

Cal sipped his coffee. His untouched breakfast was cold, and just looking at hit sent his appetite even further away. Had he really just let them go? Once they were on the _Carpathia_ he hadn't made any attempt to get Rose back. Even after some of the shock of the sinking began to wear off he had still done nothing. To Ruth's frantic questions, all he had said was, "I couldn't find her." The rest of the time he avoided her. She was a problem that would have to be dealt with eventually, but for now, he was putting it off. He trusted her good manners to keep her from pressing the question of what, exactly, their relationship was without Rose.

Of course, there was still the matter of the diamond. The little cash that had been left in his pocket was of no concern to him. Could he file an insurance claim if there was a chance it might show up in some pawn shop in the slums? But then again, he could always report it stolen. Cal smiled to himself. That would take care of things, wouldn't it? He could recoup the loss, and if either of them tried to profit from the diamond they would be arrested. It wouldn't be Rose, though. She wouldn't even know how to sell, let alone pawn, anything. If anyone were going to do that, it would be Jack, and so much the better if it was. "One less vagabond on the streets," Cal muttered.

…

Ruth hadn't left her room since arriving at the hotel. Complimentary suites had been offered to all of the first class survivors, and she intended to take advantage of the offer for as long as she could. There was no way of knowing when or even if she would be living in such conditions again. It all depended on Cal.

She trusted him to do the right thing. There was no doubt that he would do something for her. Public opinion demanded it, but she wasn't a relation; his obligation to her wasn't permanent. If Rose wasn't found he would marry another girl, and then where would she be? Even if Rose were found—Ruth refused to believe she could be dead; she was simply lost, and even if she were found, there was no guarantee Cal would take her back.

"Why should he?" she wondered. "After everything she's done. I told her not to see that young man. I told her to behave herself. But did she listen?"

Rose was such a foolish girl. She knew nothing about the world, or about men, for that matter. Ruth's frown deepened. All she had to do was be agreeable, and Cal would have given her anything. Nothing would have been off-limits to her. Ruth once again found herself wishing _she_ were still seventeen. She desperately wanted the chance to live her youth over again, to make better choices. "If I were her age, I would have already married him," she said. "I wouldn't have insisted on this nonsense of a long engagement. And I wouldn't throw everything away for a pretty face." \

Ruth didn't want to imagine Rose alone, at the mercy of the world, but she didn't want to imagine her with Jack either. She wasn't afraid he would leave her; she was afraid he would stay with her.

…

"Jack!" Rose leapt to her feet as the door opened. She rushed toward him. He carried a large bag in his arms. "Hang on," he laughed, trying to hold the bag with one arm and her with the other. "You hungry?" he asked, setting the bag on the table. "I got some things." She smoothed her skirt. "You washed my clothes," she said gratefully.

"I thought you'd want 'em clean," he said. He pulled a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a bottle of milk from the bag. "I know it's not much," he said apologetically. Rose smiled up at him. "It's perfect," she said.

"I got something else," he said, handing her a bundle wrapped in brown paper. "I had to guess, so it might not fit, and you might not like it…." He trailed off as Rose opened the package. "Oh, Jack, thank you," she gasped. She lifted out a simple dress of green cotton; beneath it was a light purple cardigan. "'Cause it's still a little cold," he explained. "I hope you like the colors. I thought they'd look nice on you, kind of like a flower."

"I love them."

"I really wasn't sure what to get for that," he added sheepishly as she uncovered a white camisole, stockings, and bloomers. "I thought you'd want some, though."

Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. He pressed his hands against her back. "Thank you," she murmured. She held his face in her hands. "I've never gotten such a lovely gift," she said.

"That can't be true."

"I'd rather have this than all of the diamonds Cal gave me," she said. "You were trying to give me something I need and that would make me happy. You weren't trying to cover me with adornments."

"You don't need any," he said.

They had to drink the milk from the bottle, something Rose had never done. Jack had only gotten one knife, which he used to cut the bread and make the sandwiches. When he was finished, he wrapped up the rest of the loaf and set it aside. They ate quickly, their stomachs growling.

"We can stay here through the end of the week," Jack said. "I found out on the way in."

"Well, that's better than I expected," Rose said.

"Don't worry. We'll be all right," he assured her. "I also got some soap and some tooth brushes."

"Now, we don't have to share," she joked. On the _Carpathia_, one of the third class women had given Rose a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste.

"We didn't have enough money for anything else," he said. "But we'll have more tomorrow."

"So, you did find a job already."

"It's kind of a specialty of mine," he said, tossing his head in mock arrogance. He snapped his fingers. "I can get hired like that."

"What kind of job is it?"

"Construction. I've never done it before, and I'm not in the union, so they've just got me doing different things. Today, I hauled bricks around. I'm surprised you can stand to be near me," he said. "I need a bath."

"You need new clothes too," Rose observed. "You should have gotten less for me and found something for yourself."

"I'll be fine," he said. "I'll get something in a few days."

"Well, I'm going out tomorrow and looking for a job," she announced. "If you can do it, so can I."

"You don't have to do that. I'll take care of you."

"I'm sure you will," she said. "But I don't want to be taken care of, not anymore, not like that. What would I do if something happened to you, and I was still just a poor little rich girl? Besides, I want to learn how to do things. I want to be out in the world. I want to meet people." She scooped up the bathing supplies. "I'll wash your clothes while you take a bath."

"Do you know how?" Jack immediately wished he hadn't said it. But Rose just shrugged it off. "I'll figure it out," she said.

…..

It finally began to rain that night as they lay in bed. They held each other, naked once again, the sheets wrapped around them like a cocoon. They gazed at each other in the dim light from the street lamp. Jack's head rested on her shoulder; his arms encircled her. They basked in the other's beauty, but there was little sexual tension in the air. Jack was content to hold and be held by her. His desire for her wasn't overpowering; it could wait. Being with one another, building this new level of comfort was just as good.

Rose slowly moved her fingers through his hair. She lightly kissed his forehead. Part of her wanted more, but she held back. It wasn't time yet. She didn't care that they weren't married. She wasn't sure she ever wanted to be, even if it was to Jack. It sounded so bizarre in her head. How had she gotten here? A week earlier she had been engaged to Cal; she had been miserable, desperate for a way out. Two weeks earlier she hadn't even known Jack. She wondered what would have happened if they hadn't met. Was he wrong? Would she have jumped, or would she simply have fallen? Worse yet, would she still be with Cal? Rose shuddered at the thought and hoped to never see him again.

…

The next day dawned bright and warm. The sky was clear and a bright blue. The previous night's rain seemed to have cleansed the whole world. Jack woke up to see Rose at the window, the sheet wrapped around her, peeking through the curtains. He couldn't help but marvel at her, both as an artist and as a lover. He wanted to sketch her, to paint her, just as much as he wanted to touch her. Feeling his gaze, she turned. "You're awake," he said with a smile. "I wasn't sure if I should let you keep sleeping. It's almost seven."

"I don't have to be at work until nine-thirty," he said. Their eyes met as she moved toward him. "So, you have some time, then," she said. He nodded, already reaching for her. She lowered herself onto him, draping the sheet over them. They kissed hungrily; their hands were like intrepid explorers as each sought out the other.

Rose managed to pull away. "Jack, we can't do this," she gasped. His cheeks were flushed, and his breathing was heavy. "We can't?" he asked, confused. "I thought you wanted—"

"I do," she said. "I do want you, but…"

"But what? Rose, tell me," he urged. "Is it me? Did I do something, before?"

"No, you were wonderful."

"Then what is it? Is it because we're not married? Because I'll marry you today if that's what you want, and I'm not just saying that either."

"I don't doubt you could get a girl to get into bed with you without resorting to such drastic measures," she said drily. "No, it isn't that. I don't care about that. Jack, I love you, but…" She sighed. "I don't want children. At least, I don't want them yet, not for a long time."

"Is that all?" he said with a relieved grin.

"Isn't that enough?"

"I understand," he said. "I don't want them yet either. I want to be with you—just _you_, for a long time."

"Even if it means we can't make love?" she asked hesitantly.

"Who says we can't?" He pulled her closer and kissed her throat. His hands moved down her. "Jack—" she protested weakly as he lay her down. He kissed his way down her belly. "Do you trust me?" he asked. She nodded. "I trust you."


	3. Chapter 3

Rose checked her hair one last time in the window. The curls were firmly held in place; it looked clean and presentable. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her skirt. The dress Jack bought fit her well. It was soft against her skin. She could tell it had been washed and worn many times. Rose had never expected to own a used dress. She had never owned anything that wasn't brand new or an antique. All of her clothes had always been custom made, measured and sewn to her specific measurements. Now, the girl with more clothes than she could ever need had only two dresses, and one was hardly suitable for her new life. She wouldn't have said so to Jack, but a part of her missed the wardrobes brimming with silk and lace, velvet and chiffon, the rows of shoes, and the drawers full of stockings and underclothes, if only for the convenience they offered. If she did manage to find a job, what would she wear to it?

She frowned at her reflection. _You are a vain, silly girl; you're a spoiled little brat. When did clothes ever make anyone happy? _She couldn't help but wonder if she would feel differently if the clothes had come from a different source and for a different reason. She genuinely liked the dress Jack had given her, but she would have loved it regardless because _he_ gave it to her. If he had given her the same trunksful of clothes Cal had, she suspected she would love them just as much. Or better yet, if somehow, she could give them to herself.

By one, Rose felt as though she had walked across the entire city. Her ankles were swollen; there was a blister forming on one of her toes, and her knees ached. Silently, she cursed the low heels on her shoes. Why couldn't she wear the same shoes Jack wore? He probably had no problem walking for days at a time. Of course, she reminded herself, he had also had more practice.

She leaned against the building and took the folder newspaper from under her arm. She looked at the "Help Wanted—Female" ads yet again. There were only two left that looked like viable options. She'd answered three ads so far, and not one of them had brought her any closer to a job. The men she had spoken to had all eyed her appreciatively, but unfortunately, they had explained, she just wasn't qualified enough. Teaching her everything she would need to know would be impossible; they needed a girl _today. _

Sighing, she tucked the newspaper back under her arm and set off in search of the next address. Maybe it was time to start being more creative with her answers.

…..

"Well, Miss—"

"Dawson." Was it alright to call herself that? Rose hadn't thought to ask Jack about it. She had just been using that name. They weren't married, but they would be. Eventually. Maybe. He said he wanted to marry her, but the real question was, did she want to marry him? She loved him, but was that enough of a reason?

"Yes, Miss Dawson, well you see, I need a girl who can type—"

"I can do that." _Not very well._

"And take dictation—"

"I can also do that." _It's writing down what someone says; how difficult can that be?  
_

"And make coffee—"

"I make very good coffee," she said brightly. _Can Jack show me how to do that? Does he even know how? Is that something men usually know how to do? _

"And you'll have to sort the mail, file, take messages, run errands," he went on.

"Mr. Wheaton, I can do all of those things," Rose said. She leaned forward and placed her hands on the edge of the desk. "You need a girl today, right? Well, I'm the girl."

There was an unbearable pause while he studied her. "Alright," he said. "Be here tomorrow at nine."

"Thank you," she said, trying to hide her excitement.

"You're welcome," he said, amused. "Just be here at nine."

At the door she turned. "I almost forgot," she said. "What am I being paid?"

….

Rose felt as though she could walk anywhere. A chill wind blew, but she didn't feel it. She pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall down her back. Relief washed over her. "Everything is going to be fine," she said. There was seventy-five cents in the pocket of her cardigan, just in case she needed it. Her stomach growled. Would it be wasteful to spend it on lunch? Would it even be enough for a meal? She frowned, realizing she had no practical understanding of how to spend money. She had no idea what things cost; she didn't know how to look for bargains or haggle. It would be written on her face, no matter what she did. They had so little money. She couldn't waste any of it, even if she was hungry. There was still food in their room; she could eat there. Only now, the walk back seemed even longer than before.

It was still too early for Jack when she arrived. She knew it was too early, and she was still disappointed. "It's a good thing you found a job," she said to herself. Waiting all day for Jack to home come would slowly drive her out of her mind. Eating only took a few minutes, and she searched for something else to do. Humming to herself, she made the bed and refolded her other set of clothes. She opened the window to let in fresh air, not minding the chill.

She tried to wait patiently for him, but the time dragged by. The small room was as neat as she could make it. Should she go ahead and make a sandwich for him? "He'll be hungry," she said, fighting the silence. "But what if he wants a bath first? Or if he brings something with him?" She hated how worried she was getting over something so trivial. Did other women do this? She wanted him to be happy, but a line had to be drawn somewhere. Yet she still worried he might change his mind, that he might decide being with her wasn't a good idea, after all. He had said he had nothing to offer her, but what did she have to offer him? Besides a willingness to get into bed with him? Cal's words rang in her ears. It had been so easy to hurl back a defiant response, but how right was he? "No, that's not how he thinks of me," she told herself. "He wouldn't." But everyone else would think of her that way. Unless she married him as soon as possible, and even then, they might still talk. And if people talked, they would hear. Jack would hear. What if he listened? "You're being absurd," she said through clenched teeth. "You need something better to do."

…..

The window was still open when Jack came in, but Rose wasn't there. The sun was already down. A cold snap had set in, and it was no warmer inside than out. Shivering, he set a brown paper bag on the table and hurried to close the window. He turned on the radiator, but by the time Rose arrived the air was only a few degrees warmer. She clutched a package wrapped in blue paper. Her cardigan was drawn around her, and her hands were tucked in its sleeves. Her cheeks were red from the cold, but she was smiling. "You're back!" she exclaimed. "I thought I could get here first. It's supposed to be spring, but it feels like January out there." She held the package out to him. "Here."

"What is it?"

"Open it."

She watched him anxiously. It had been an impulsive decision, and as he stared at the contents of the package, she felt sure it had been the wrong decision. "I know I should have saved the money," she said quickly. "Or gotten something we need instead, but I…." She trailed off as his eyes met hers. He wasn't smiling, but he didn't look upset either. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "It wasn't much, but we need every penny, don't we?" She let out a cry of surprise as he enveloped her in a hug.

"You're not angry?" she said.

"No," he assured her. "Why would I be?" He took her face in his hands. "That was a sweet thing to do," he said.

"I thought you needed some new supplies," she said. "And you _need _to draw, don't you?"

"No-one's ever understand that," he said. "Thank you."

They gazed at each other for a moment before a shiver from Rose broke the spell. "Honey-Rose, you're freezing," he said, touching her hands. "Get in bed. Keep your clothes on and get under the blanket."

Jack tried to get the radiator to give off more heat, but nothing he did worked. "I found a job," she said.

"Really? Doing what?"

"As a secretary in a law office," she said with mock haughtiness. "I'm to type, take messages, run errands, take dictation, and make the coffee." In her own voice, she added, "I don't know how to make coffee. Do you?"

"It's easy," he said. "You just fill the pot with water." She nodded. "And then you let it boil," he explained. "There's a part at the top for the coffee. You put a few spoonfuls in before you boil the water."

"And that's it?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it," he said with a shrug.

"I told the man I made wonderful coffee," she said. "I'm not very good at typing, but I didn't tell him that. I know how, but I'm slow. It takes me hours to get through a few pages." She chuckled drily. "It wasn't a skill my finishing school focused on. Jack, I was so afraid I'd never find a job," she admitted. "All morning I heard, 'You're not qualified enough' or 'We can't teach you what you need to know' and I just—I panicked said what I thought he wanted to hear." She looked up at Jack through her curls. "Do you think that was a stupid thing to do?"

"I've done it," he said. "And you can learn, right?" He began emptying the bag. "You're smart; you'll figure things out."

"What if I don't?"

"Honey-Rose, you can't think like that," he said. "You gotta focus on what you can do, not on what you can't. Think about all the good things. You found a job. You, on your own, went out and found a job, with no help from anyone."

"No-one I know would believe that," she said.

"I would. I do believe it," he said. "You won't be great at everything, but you still gotta try. And I'm proud of you for going there and trying." No praise had ever meant so much to her. "What did you get?" she asked.

"Some very exciting things," he answered. "Jam."

"To go with the peanut butter."

"Exactly. And more milk. Bread."

"I haven't drank this much milk since I was a little girl," she laughed.

"It's good for ya," he said. "I also got these—"

"You got yourself pants!" she cried happily.

"Yes, and I wish I was excited about them as you are," he joked. "I got a whole outfit—shirt, socks, everything."

"Good," she said. "Go take a bath, and I'll wash today's clothes when you're done."

When he came back, there was a sandwich waiting for him on the table. Rose was back in bed, the blanket up to her chin. "I already ate mine," she said.

"Thanks," he said. She shivered as she got up. "I'll wash these," she said, reaching for his clothes.

"No, I'll do it," he said. "Get back in bed."

"Jack—"

"I don't want you getting sick," he said. "I've washed my own clothes for years. It won't kill me to do it again."

…

Rose snuggled against him, grateful for his warmth. "I can't sleep like this," she realized.

"You can't?"

"I can't sleep in this dress, I mean," she said. "I can't arrive tomorrow in wrinkled clothes, can I? What will they think?"

"Do you want your other one?"

"No." Quickly. She undressed and carefully put her clothes on the floor. He tucked the blanket around her and held her tightly. "I'll keep you warm," he promised. He kissed her cheek. "I love you," he said quickly.

"I love you too, Jack." She told herself not to say it, but she did anyway. "That's enough, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I don't want to marry you—if I never want to—loving each other is enough. That can keep us together just as well as a piece of paper from City Hall can."

"Yeah, I guess," he replied, somewhat confused.

"Marriages break up," she said. "They fail. People have affairs. People who can't stand one another get married. Why does calling me your wife bind me to you any more than simply saying I'm the woman you love?"

"Isn't that what I'd be doing if I married you?"

"I suppose, but isn't marriage more for everyone else than for us?" she asked. "And I'm not sure I care what everyone else thinks or wants anymore. I know what they'll say about us—about me, but I don't want to live by other people's rules anymore. I want us to be together because we want to be, not because we're married and married people stay together. I only want us as bound to one another as we want to be."

"You're tellin me it's okay to leave you," he pointed out. "What if I do?"

"I trust you," she said. "I don't think you will. So, I can give you that freedom. And being married wouldn't stop you from leaving if you wanted to. Would it? Being engaged didn't stop me from leaving Cal any more than it got him into my bed."

Jack's jaw tightened. "I see your point," he said. "We hafta believe in something to follow its rules, right?"

"Right. Exactly."

"And you're not sure you believe in marriage, at least, not the paper side of it."

"Do you?"

"I never really thought about it," he said.

"You never thought about being married?"

"No," he said. "I thought about girls."

"Just thought about them?" she prodded.

"Yeah, alright, more than that," he admitted. "I thought I was in love a few times, but it never lasted."

"Why not?"

"I dunno…something would happen, and it was usually me leaving." He looked down into her eyes. "I won't do that with you," he said. "You can trust me. I promise. I'm in this forever."

…

Rose expected her first day to difficult, but she was unprepared for the disaster it turned out to be. From the moment she arrived, nothing went well. She misjudged how long it would take to get there, so she arrived exactly at nine, out of breath, and lightly sweating despite the cold. She lay Cal's coat across her chair, glad she had listened when Jack insisted she wear it. As the inner office door opened, she did her best to look composed. "You're here on time," Mr. Wheaton noted, not unpleasantly. "That's good. Have you made the coffee yet?"

"Just about to," she said brightly.

"Well, the kitchen is down the hall and down the stairs," he said. "Ask one of the other girls to show you where everything is." And with that he disappeared back into his office.

The hallway was an endless series of doors. Most were closed, and Rose went past those, too nervous to knock. They all had a man's name in gold type on them. She stopped at the first open door. "Hello," she said politely.

The girl sitting at the desk looked about her age. She had dark eyes and shiny black hair. Her nose was sharp, but her lips were full. "Yes?" she said crisply.

"I was told—I was wondering—Could you show me where the kitchen is?" Rose stammered. "Please?"

"You're the new girl?" Rose thought she detected suspicion in her voice.

"Yes," Rose said, lifting her chin.

"I don't have time to show you things all day," the other girl said, sweeping past her and into the hallway. "Come on."

Rose fell into step beside her. "I'm Rose," she offered.

"Myra."

"Have you worked here long?"

"Three years."

They came to the bottom of the stairs. "There," Myra said. "On the left. The door's marked, so you shouldn't get lost." Before Rose could speak, Myra turned and quickly headed back up the stairs. "Thank you," Rose said quietly. "Well," she went on. "No-one said this would be easy, but I can do it."

By the time Jack appeared she wasn't so sure. She leapt to her feet at the sight of him. "Jack!" she cried. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see how you were," he said. He held up a small bag. "And to bring you this."

"You brought me lunch?" she said gratefully. "I completely forgot to bring anything."

"I know. You didn't take any money, either, so I thought you'd need this."

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I still have a few minutes left for lunch," he replied.

"You didn't spend the whole time coming down here, did you?" she asked, concerned.

"I ate on the way," he said. "I'm fine." He gave her a quick kiss. "I gotta go, but I wanna hear about everything tonight."

Rose sank back into her chair. "I don't know where to begin," she said, after he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Rose downplayed the day's difficulties when she told Jack about them. She knew he would understand and even sympathize, but she didn't want that. She wanted him to think she was capable and intelligent enough to handle anything, even real life. Most of all, she wanted him to be proud of her. Nearly failing and going back anyway, in her mind, didn't compare to succeeding from the start. "How is your job going?" she asked.

"It's pretty good," he replied. "I'm getting along with everyone; my boss's a nice guy. He's paying me every day instead of every week, so that's great."

"How did you manage that?"

He shrugged. "I just asked. Told him I'd just gotten here and needed the money to get by, that I had a wife—" He paused. When she didn't speak, he went on, "That's how I think of you. Whether it's technically true or not, that's what you are to me." She reached out a laid her hand over his.

…

The cold held on. The only way to keep their room even semi-warm was to keep the radiator on even when they weren't there. "We're gonna move soon," Jack assured her. "We'll find something better."

"This isn't so bad," she said. "I don't expect very much. Even with both of us working there still won't be a lot of money to spare, and we aren't staying in New York forever, are we?"

"No," he answered. "But we can't leave without saving up a little and definitely not before summer." Before, he would have traveled in any weather and with no money if the urge for going came upon him. He slept under bridges, on benches, in barns, hay stacks, boxcars, and even once in a cave. He worked for meals or rides to the next town. He walked and foraged for food when there was no work or no kind strangers. Jack hadn't forgotten the skills of his rural upbringing. He knew how to hunt and fish, how to mark a trail, which plants were safe to eat and to touch, how to tell the time by the sun and directions by the stars. He wanted to show those skills to Rose and to teach them to her. He wanted her to know what it was like to sleep beneath an open sky, to dive from summer heat into a cold lake, to cross the country seeing things no conventional traveler ever did. But he didn't want her to know the risks involved. He hated the thought of her cold or hungry, and he had been both plenty of times. He didn't want her to know what it was like to be pushed out of town for "vagrancy" or threatened. There had to be a way to preserve the dream without exposing her to its harshest elements.

Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Where will we go?" she asked, leaning toward him.

"Where do you want to go?"

"We can't do directly to California; what fun would that be?" she said. "But I want to end up there, eventually. Maybe we'll get there by next summer."

"You've been thinking about this, haven't you?" he said. Her excitement was infectious. He saw them doing in. He saw them leaving New York with just the few things they needed and heading somewhere—anywhere—new.

"A little," she admitted. "Actually, I've been thinking about it since that first afternoon when we said we'd go to the pier."

"Me to," he said with a grin. "Not just about going out there, but about all of it, traveling with you, being with you."

"Let's not move," Rose suggested. "Unless it's to somewhere cheaper. Why spend money on a a place if we aren't going to stay there? Jack, I want to go as soon as we're able."

"Alright," he agreed. "We'll save everything we can, and we'll go during the summer."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Kissing his cheek, she said, "I know it's going to be wonderful."

For the next week and a half, Rose made it to work with time to spare. She put a pot of coffee onto brew before Mr. Wheaton arrived and had a cup ready when he asked for it. Her coffee was still far from the quality she had promised, but it improved each day. Unfortunately, it was one of the only things that improved steadily. Every time she mastered a task a new hurdle appeared. It felt like she was always running behind, desperately trying to catch up. There was no-one to ask for help. She had barely spoken to any of the other secretaries. They only appeared slightly friendlier than Myra, whom she had only seen one other time. To make matters worse, the heat in the office was uneven. In the hallways it was almost as cold as outside, while in her office and the other rooms, it was uncomfortably warm.

Rose kept wearing Cal's coat at Jack's insistence. By chance as she put it on to go home Friday afternoon, she stuck her hand in one of the pockets. It wasn't something she had done before; she preferred to put her hands in the sleeves to protect them from the cold. She carried nothing with her, aside from her room key, which she wore on a ribbon around her neck, and a small paper bag for lunch.

The diamond was cold against her hand. She knew what it was instantly. Her brow furrowed. Turning her back to the door, she pulled it out. It shone even brighter in the drab office. Rose turned it over in her hand. Cal must have put it there, but why? He hadn't planned to put the coat on her; he probably hadn't realized what he'd done until it was too late. He couldn't have demanded it back after they were in the boat.

In the other pocket she found two perfectly bound stacks of twenties, the kind Cal always carried in his safe. Uneasiness crept down her spine. It was hard to believe he would just let the money _and _the diamond go. He had to be looking for them, didn't he? She shoved both back into their respective pockets and hurried outside.

….

She rushed in, nearly slamming the door behind her. The further she walked, the more nervous she had become. Jack turned from the window, startled by the sound. "What's wrong?" he asked, moving toward her. She struggled to catch her breath. The frigid air burned her lungs. She reached into her pockets and held their contents out to him. He looked from one hand to the other, too surprised to speak. Finally, he said, "Where did you get them?"

"They were in the pockets," she explained. "They've been there the whole time. I just never noticed them. I thought it was a heavy coat, but I never imagined I was carrying around something like this. I can't believe they didn't fall out."

"What are we gonna do with them?"

"I don't know," she said. "I was hoping you knew."

Jack was at a loss. This was an entirely new kind of problem for him. "We can't sell the necklace," he said. He held it up to the light. It still impressed him, despite its origins. How could he not be awed by something so perfect? Its color was so rich and deep; it was the kind of blue he dreamed about painting. "He has to know it's gone," Jack went on. "He probably reported it stolen. Again," he added, an edge in his voice.

"I don't want to sell it," Rose said. "It means something to me now. I wore it the first time you drew me. It's a symbol of their night, and I can't help liking it now because of that."

"I hadn't thought about it that way," he replied. "You're right. We should keep it, if only for that. But the money—"

"I don't want it," she said firmly. "It would be like asking Cal for help, and I'm sure things will never be so hopeless we have to resort to that."

"You want to throw it away?" he asked, somewhat taken aback.

"What if we give it away?" she suggested. "There must be someone else who needs it more than we do."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" he said. He had never seen, let alone held, this much money, and part of him wanted to keep it—or at least a portion of it. It would make their lives infinitely easier, especially since they were just starting out. They would be assured of plenty of food, a place to live, and warm clothes. Disgust rolled over him. What was he thinking? Keep Cal's money? Spend Cal's money? They both had their health; they both had jobs. What was he so worried about? They were getting by. There was no reason to think that would change. He didn't know what each day would bring, but so what? He had never known. He never would have taken Cal's money before; he'd already refused it once, and he wouldn't take it now. They could manage to keep themselves clothed and fed on their own.

"I'm sure," she said. "I don't want anything that money can buy. I don't want anything from him ever again."

…

They gave the money to a home for orphans. They put it in a bag and dropped it in the collection box, leaving before anyone noticed them. Jack felt a weight lift off his shoulders as they walked away. Nothing had ever tempted him as strongly as those stacks of cash, and he was still reeling from the experience. He saw a side of himself he didn't know, a side that was grateful for windfall, no matter what the source. He didn't like it. He never wavered in his decision not to keep the money—not even a little—but he'd lain awake the previous night, listening to the doubts, to this new side's arguments.

_Don't you want better food for her? Don't you want her to have more clothes? She has you to take care of her; she shouldn't have to work. How can you call yourself her husband? How can you call yourself a man and let that happen? He owes this money to you; he owes it to both of you. Have you forgotten what he did? He had you arrested for something you didn't do. You were left to drown. He hit Rose. He made her miserable. Keep it; make your life together better with it. It's the ultimate revenge. _

But he didn't want revenge. He wanted to live. He wanted them both to have what they needed. He wanted to be happy and for Rose to be happy. But he didn't want Cal to have any part in that, and he didn't want Cal's misery. That would have been a waste of energy. And if he took the money it would be like admitting he wasn't good enough for Rose after all. If he kept it, he would be saying Cal was the better man, smarter, more capable, the one truly worthy of Rose. Jack was determined not to do that.

….

A flaw in Rose's thinking emerged the next day. It was all well and good to have high minded ideas about love and relationships alone with Jack, but the rest of the world had yet to catch up with them. She had just finished lunch and was about to go brew the afternoon coffee when Mr. Wheaton walked in. "Good afternoon, Miss Dawson," he said cheerfully. He was in his forties, Rose guessed, with dark hair beginning to grey at the temples and hazel eyes. His features were unremarkable, but his build was good. His suits were well-cut and fit him perfectly. She hadn't formed much of an opinion about him yet. Their interactions had been limited to greetings, farewells, and instructions.

One morning, when there was little to do, she had briefly wondered about his personal life. Did he have a wife? Did he have children? The most intimate thing she knew about him was his first name: Allen. Even in her head she never called him that; he was always Mr. Wheaton. No other name suited him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wheaton," she replied pleasantly. "I was just going to make the coffee."

He waved his hand dismissively. "There's no hurry," he said. "In fact, I'm back early. You still have a little time left for lunch."

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm finished anyway." She tried to move around her desk, but he blocked her path. He leaned against the desk's edge, his body relaxed, as if to suggest a casual meeting between friends. "Do you need something?" she asked. His behavior was a bit unusual, but she didn't attach any significance to it. Perhaps he was always this way with his secretaries, once he got used to them.

"No," he assured her. "There's nothing I need right now."

"Well, I'll just go make the coffee then."

But he kept blocking her path. A small anxiety knot began to form in her stomach. What was he doing? Why wouldn't he let her by?

"Miss Dawson—" he began. "It _is _Miss, isn't it? You're not married?"

Rose searched for the correct answer. Technically, no, she wasn't married, but would saying so mean denying Jack and what she had with him? Yes, she decided, it would. But saying she was married would be a lie, and if she was, why hadn't she once corrected him when he called her Miss instead of Mrs.? It seemed there was no correct answer. He looked at her expectantly.

"No," she blurted out. She immediately regretted saying it. His eyes gleamed; it was a look she recognized. Cal had often worn a similar expression. "I see," he said slowly. Was it her imagination, or was he moving closer? She took a step back. "That young man I've seen you with, he isn't your husband then?" he asked. He glanced down at her left hand. Rose slipped her hands behind her back. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "No," she said, keeping her voice steady. "He's my fiancé." She hated herself for lying, but she wasn't sure what else to do.

"Oh," he said. "I see." But his expression didn't change. He stood up. "I'll be in my office," he said, brushing his hand down her bare arm.

When he was gone, Rose sank into her chair, arms clasped around her middle. The knot in her stomach was larger now. She rubbed her hand across the part of her arm he had touched.

…..

Rose left as early as she could. Nothing else happened, but she wanted out of there nonetheless. As she hurried home, she tried to decide whether or not to tell Jack. He had a right to know, but how would he react? He would be angry; she was sure of that. But would he be angry with her? She had said they weren't married. Did that make it her fault? Had she done something, expressed an interest in his attentions somehow?

A new thought appeared. What if she was overreacting? He hadn't actually done anything to her; he barely touched her. He hadn't threatened or propositioned her. Everything had been implied. Yes, it could be in her imagination. He would say it was all in her head, or worse, that she was deliberately making it up. She couldn't upset Jack over nothing. This was something she would have to deal with herself, if there was indeed something to be dealt with.

…..

The rest of the week went by without incident, and Rose put it out of her mind, sure she had exaggerated the exchange. When she woke up Saturday morning, Jack was already dressed. Breakfast was on the table, and a water glass had been filled with violets. "Good morning," he said with a smile. He leaned down and kissed her temple. "Well, good morning," she replied brightly. "What's all this?"

"Breakfast."

"You got up early on your day off to make it," she said. "And you went out to get flowers."

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Now, come eat. I got a whole day planned."

"You do?" Her surprise was visible. She slipped into a discarded shirt of his and took a seat at the table. "I do," he said. "But, I'm not gonna tell you anything. It's a surprise."

"A surprise? What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," he answered. "I realized we haven't done anything yet. We haven't explored the city at all. We've gone to work and come home every day since we got here, and that's unacceptable."

"I see." She couldn't help smiling.

…..

They spent the morning at an inexpensive art museum. The selection was small, but they were the only visitors and could linger as long as they wanted. After that, Jack took her to lunch in a small café. It was a cloudless, warm day. The cold snap appeared to finally be over. They sat at a sidewalk table, watching people go by and basking in the sunlight.

"Are you sure we can afford this?" Rose asked, scanning the prices on the menu. Nothing was over a dollar; most things were less than fifty cents, but spending money on a single meal rather than ingredients for several, made her uneasy. It seemed reckless.

"I'm sure," he said. "Don't worry, Honey-Rose. I know we said we'd save everything for traveling, but I put a little aside for today."

"When?"

"Remember when I said I needed more paper? I didn't get any," he explained. "And those pants I got the other day? I talked the guy down to half price. And I worked through lunch a few days, made a little extra that way."

"Jack, you shouldn't do that," she said. "You can't go all day without eating, especially not if you're working."

"Sure I can," he replied. "I've done it before. I've gone several days without eating and walked and worked. It's not that bad; I can handle it."

"I don't want you doing that," she said. "Not for me, anyway. If you had to it would be different, but—"

"But I wanted to," he interrupted. "Rose, I wanted us to have this day. I wanted to take you out for a meal." He grinned. "I wanted people to see us together."

"Do you promise you won't do it again?"

"Alright. I promise."

They wandered through a park for most of the afternoon. Jack had spent so much time in cities recently he had forgotten how good it felt to be surrounded by nature—or at least, partially surrounded. Rose's legs now carried her effortlessly. She actually felt better walking along the paths than when they stopped to rest. She still wished she had a pair of sturdy boots like Jack's, though. Women weren't supposed to wear shoes like that, but she didn't care. She was on her feet so much, why shouldn't she wear something comfortable?

"Jack, would you mind if I wore boots like yours?" she asked. They stood under a tree that hadn't begun to bloom yet. The sight of its bare branches made Jack sad, although he wasn't sure why. "No," he answered. "You should wear what makes you comfortable, and if that's men's boots, then alright."

"You mean it? It wouldn't bother you? You wouldn't think it was unladylike or there was something wrong with me?"

"No," he said. "Am I supposed to?"

"Most people would," she said. "Most people I've known, anyway. They would say it's a disgrace for man to let his wife wear something like that."

"Maybe, but not me. Rose, I grew up seeing work alongside men; it might have been at different tasks, but they still worked as much and as hard. They got dirty. They wore the clothes that were best for the job. It didn't mean there was anything strange about them; it just mean they doing what they had to do," he explained. "So, if you want boots, we'll get you some."

"That right there—that's what I fell in love with," Rose said. "You treat me like a person, Jack. You treat everyone equally. You don't think I'm delicate or that you have to handle me carefully because I'm a woman."

He placed his hands on her arms. "You're not a porcelain doll," he said. "You _are _a person; you're a grown woman, and I respect you. You should know by now that I'm not gonna make decisions for you, and I'm not gonna criticize you. But I am going to do my best to protect you. Because that's just what you do when you love someone, so don't think I've forgotten how strong you are when I do that."

The story of her encounter with Mr. Wheaton was on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't let herself tell it. Deep down, she knew it mattered. It wasn't anything big, not yet, but it could happen again. She was sure it would happen again. "I get to protect you as well," she said. And the best way to do that was to remain silent.


	5. Chapter 5

The days became weeks, and those became months, until before they knew it, June was upon them. The weather had stayed erratic through May, with warm, almost summer days, and cold, rainy days that belonged back in February. It began as a mild cold, which they both caught. Fortunately for Jack, a weekend in bed was all he needed. He took a few aspirin, drank a bowl of hot soup, and slept it off. It wasn't so easy for Rose. When she went to bed that Friday her head ached and her nose was stuffy. She shifted from chilled to hot without warning, and she couldn't stop coughing. When she got up Monday, all the symptoms were still there. They hadn't gotten worse, but they hadn't gotten better either.

The cold kept its grip on her. The worst of it faded, for the most part, but the aching, stuffy head and cough persisted. Now, her coughs were deep and painful. Her chest was sore, and her throat was raw from trying to rid her lungs of the thick mucus that coated them. Jack did his best to cure her. He found strong teas and got her soups. He bought expensive, foul tasting cough syrups, in spite of her protests about the cost. But nothing worked. His efforts only kept her from getting any sicker.

Rose's only consolation was that her sickness had kept Mr. Wheaton far away from her. There had been no further incidents, and gradually, she had put that afternoon out of her mind.

Finally, one Friday evening when Rose's coughing was particularly bad, Jack ordered her into bed. "I'm getting you over this," he said, arranging the pillows so she could sleep sitting up. "Sitting up'll help you breathe," he said. "You gotta stop laying down." Rose didn't argue. "I don't want you getting up unless you have to," he added. He kissed her forehead. She was warmer than he would have liked. "Try to sleep for a while. I'm gonna get you some fresh soup. Do you want tea?"

She nodded. "Yes, please."

"With honey?"

She nodded again.

"I won't be gone long," he said. "Want me to go by the library too?"

"I can't read," she said wearily. "It hurts my eyes."

"I'll read to you," he offered. "It might help you sleep."

She smiled. "That would be nice."

….

She was asleep when he returned. She sounded as if she were struggling to get air into her lungs; he could hear the congestion in her chest, and it worried him. Doing his best not to disturb her, he filled the hot water bottle and placed it against her chest. He wasn't sure if it would help, but it was what his mother had always done for him. He pressed his wrist to her forehead; she was still warm. He kissed her forehead; she was definitely warm. It was probably only a mild fever, but he didn't like it. It could get worse without warning.

She shivered. He tucked the blankets tightly around her. There were dark circles under her eyes. She spent most night tossing and turning, trying vainly to sleep. The little sleep she did get was too light to be nourishing.

A coughing fit woke her. She pitched forward, clutching at her chest. Jack patted her back and held a handkerchief to her lips. She tried to hold in her coughs. "Get it out," he said. "You'll feel better. Go on; spit. That's my girl." He kissed her cheek. She sank against the pillows. "Here," he said, handing her a mug of hot tea. She drank gratefully.

"You aren't going to want me anymore after this," she joked weakly.

"I'll want you more." Carefully, he poured out a spoonful of medicine from a new bottle. She grimaced. "You've gotta take it," he said apologetically. "It's part of getting better."

"I'll never get better," she grumbled. But she swallowed the vile liquid with a shudder. She drained the rest of the tea from the mug.

"You're gonna get better," he said. "By Monday, I'll have you better."

"You're rather confident," she said, yawning.

"I've been told that," he said with a grin. "Are you hungry?"

She shook her head. "Not yet." Whatever he had given her was stronger than the usual medicine. Drowsiness was already settling over her. She felt warm and heavy. Jack settled in next to her and covered her with the blanket. As he opened a new book, she asked, "What did you get?"

"_The Custom of the Country_."

She yawned deeply. "I like Wharton."

"I know you do."

Rose closed her eyes as he began to read. His voice was low and soothing. She listened to the words as long as she could; finally, she just listened to the sound of his voice as it lulled her to sleep.

Jack kept reading long after she fell asleep. He knew from her breathing she was in a deep sleep, and he was more than a little relieved. It might just be a lingering cold now, but he knew firsthand not only how much worse it could get but also how quickly. Summer was firmly in place, but fevers didn't care how nice the weather was. He pressed his inner wrist to her forehead. She was cooling down.

…

Rose slept until the next morning. When she woke up she felt rested; for the first time in days, she had energy. Her eyes were bright and clear. But she still struggled to breathe without coughing. Jack slept next to her, still in his clothes. His head rested against her shoulder. She tried to hold them in, but her coughing woke him.

His head snapped up. Startled, he looked around. "Rose?"

"Right here," she said.

He rubbed his eyes. "When did I go to sleep? Is it morning already?" He turned to her. "How're you feeling?"

She smiled. "Much better. I don't know what you gave me last night, but I haven't slept so well in weeks."

He returned her smile. "Think you can eat now?"

She nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes. I'm famished."

Jack heated a bowl of soup on the radiator. He watched as she devoured it and was glad to see her appetite returning. But he wasn't celebrating her recovery yet. She was a little better, but she wasn't well. She could still take a turn for the worse. He doubted she had ever been seriously ill. Her life wouldn't have exposed her to germs or the elements. She would have been kept safely away from anything contagious. The made him worry even more. Would she be able to fight back if she became seriously ill? Rose was young and strong. She would fight back; there was no doubt in his mind she would fight. But could she win? He knew it was ridiculous, but looking down at her fair skin and delicate features, it was difficult to imagine an outcome that wasn't heartbreaking.

"I need a bath," she said, stretching. "I think you kept me _too _warm last night. I was so cold at first, but now I feel…sweaty. And dirty."

"Let me help you," he said, taking her arm. He placed his other hand on her back.

"I'm fine," she replied. But she let him lead her to the bathroom. When she was undressed, he helped her into the tub. "I'll get your things," he said.

….

Rose didn't argue when he insisted she get back into bed. He gave her one of his old shirts to wear and tucked her in. "I'm not cold," she said.

"I don't want you to get cold," he replied, smoothing the blanket. There was a strange look in his eyes; she hadn't seen him look that way before.

"Jack, is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nope," he said.

She didn't press the matter. "Will you open the window? Please?"

"Sure."

She patted the empty space next to her. "And will you come sit with me?"

"After your medicine," he said.

Rose frowned. "Jack, do I really have to take more? I feel better today. You said yourself I look better."

"And I want you to keep getting better," he said. "So, please, take this." Dutifully, she accepted the spoonful of dark liquid he held out.

"Now, will you sit with me?"

"Sure. Do you want to read?" he asked.

"Is that concoction going to put me to sleep again?"

"Probably," he said.

She took his hand. "Then let's just talk. Tell me a story?"

"Alright. Once upon a time—"

"No," she said. "Tell me a true story, something about you."

He thought for a moment. "I could tell you about Italy," he suggested. "Want to hear about that?"

"Yes." Her eyes were already getting heavy. "I haven't been there," she said. "Mother and Cal didn't like it. Italians are too dark and lust-ridden Papists. Did you know that? I always found that a bit amusing." She yawned. "Considering that Cal's a bit dark, and he always seems rather lust-ridden to me."

"Well, some of them are," he said. "But it's a beautiful country. I want to go back eventually. Everything's so old, and there's art everywhere. Even the buildings are works of art. I went to Venice, and I didn't believe all the stories about the canals, but they're true. It was even more spectacular than I'd heard. I was with Fabrizo then. We met in this tiny village—" Jack stopped as a lump formed in his throat. He hadn't thought about Fabrizo since the night of the sinking. Suddenly, he wished he knew what had happened to him. He was overcome by the need to know what had happened to everyone he'd known on the ship. Had any of them managed to survive, or had the water claimed them all?

There weren't enough boats, and the _Carpathia_ had been too far away. No matter what anyone did, half of the people onboard would have ended up in the water. Any yet, Jack was filled with a strong sense of injustice. He knew there had been no question about which half would survive, which half would be given a chance to try getting a seat in a boat. He didn't begrudge women and children their place in the boats. He would gladly have given up his seat for Rose, and if they had children, he'd want her with them. He would want to know they would be fine, even if his safety wasn't assured. But did that mean the lives of First Class women and children were more valuable than those in the other classes? Was anyone's life more valuable than anyone else's? Jack didn't think so.

He kissed her hand. He pressed her palm to his cheek. At least she was with him. Realizing she was asleep, he shifted her so she was propped against him. He put his arms around her, holding her tightly. He would get her well; he was determined not to lose anyone else.

…..

Jack had started from the beginning and was nearly finished with the book when Rose woke up. "What time is it?" she asked, yawning.

"Almost five," he said. "You slept all day."

"Well, you gave me that sleeping potion," she said. "Although I must say, it's rather effective. I feel wonderful."

"You're still staying in bed until Monday," he said.

"But Jack—"

"I know you feel great now, but if you get up all your strength'll be gone in a couple of hours, and you'll be even sicker than you were before," he said. "Rose, please, rest a little while longer."

"Alright," she said, "If it means that much to you."

"It does."

"I see you're nearly finished," she said, glancing at the book. His thumb marked his place. "Do you like it?"

"I didn't think I would, but I do," he replied. "It's funny. All these people keep telling this girl how to live, and she keeps chasing these fantasies she thinks will make her happy, but she knew what she really wanted all along. She just listened to other people instead of herself."

"Does she end up happy?"

"It looks that way," he said. "Want me to read some to you?"

"You can pick a different one, if we have another," she answered. "I won't make you read it a third time."

"You sure? I don't mind."

"I might fall asleep again," she said.

He reached for the small stack of books on the bedside table. "How about _The Memoirs of Emma Courtney_? Neither of us have read that one."

Rose settled against him; his arm was around her shoulders. "I wanted to read that one next," she said.

"Then we'll read that one."

…

At some point, they fell asleep again. Jack didn't know what woke him, but he instantly felt the heat radiating from Rose's body. He lifted her head; her cheeks were flushed. She was hot to the touch. He leapt to his feet and picked her up. She groaned as he carried her down the hallway to the bathroom. She was limp in his arms. He didn't wait for the tub to fill before gently setting her down in the cold water.

Rose's eyes snapped open. She gasped in shock. Her body felt as though it were on fire and freezing at the same time. Her muscles ached. A thick haze covered the world. She was vaguely aware of Jack's hands holding her. At some point, she felt herself being lifted and wrapped in a towel.

Jack moved his hands over her, making sure her temperature had gone down. He pulled off her wet clothes and dried her before laying her back in bed. Her eyes fluttered open. "Jack?" she said.

He lifted her head with one hand and held a cup of water to her mouth with the other. "Right here," he said. "Drink this." She drank greedily. "Better?" he asked. She nodded. "Drink this," he said again, offering a spoonful of medicine. She accepted it silently. Jack got into bed next to her. He pulled her close, laying her head against his chest. She snuggled up to him. Gradually, his heart rate returned to normal. What had caused her temperature to shook up? It was a warm night; it couldn't have been the open window. It was probably the illness fighting back, one last time, before giving up.

His sleep was thin. He heard every sound she made and felt every movement of her body. She slept deeply. She woke feeling alert and refreshed. She breathed easily; the need to cough was gone. Her head was clear and light. She sat up slowly, turning to meet his gaze. "What happened last night?" she asked.

"You had a fever," he said. "I put you in the tub to try and bring it down."

"I'm assuming that worked."

"Yeah, it did," he said. His tone was level, but there was a trace of the previous night's fear in his face. He hadn't let himself think; he had just reacted. Even when it was over, he hadn't let himself think too much about what had happened. He had woken up in time and had done something about it. That was all that mattered. He pressed his inner wrist to her cheek. She felt normal.

"I've never seen anyone check a temperature the way you do," she said, as he kissed her forehead.

"Your mother didn't check yours this way?" he asked.

"My mother never took my temperature," she replied. "My nurse or a maid took it, and they used a thermometer."

"Where was your mother?"

"Oh, she was in the room sometimes. I didn't get sick often as a child. She always looked in on me; she made sure I was taking my medicine."

"That's all?" Jack said, incredulously. "She didn't take care of you? She didn't sit with you or anything?"

"No. She had other things to do," Rose said. "There was someone whose job it was to take care of me. It wasn't so bad. I had the same nurse until I was thirteen. She was very sweet, and I adored her. My mother didn't become that involved in my life until then."

"That sounds awful," he said.

"I never thought about it. I suppose I can see how it would seem that way, especially to someone who grew up differently, but I wasn't unhappy. I didn't feel unloved or neglected. In fact, I preferred when my mother left me alone. She was always correcting the way I spoke or the way I sat or lifted my fork. It was insufferable. The older I got, the worse she became. Nothing I did was ever right." She stopped, overcome by self-consciousness. Jack wore a peculiar expression. She couldn't quite read it, but there was a layer of sadness in it. "What was your mother like?" she asked gently.

"She was—" He shrugged. "She was my mother. What can I say? I loved her."

"What was her name?"

"Katharine."

"If you don't want—"

"She had curly hair, like you," he said. "She kept it up most of the time, and it wasn't red. It was a dark brown. She was never still; she was always doing something, even if it was just tapping her foot. I think she was restless, only I didn't know at the time. I think I get some of it from her." He paused. Rose waited form him to go on, but he didn't. He gave her a quick hug. "I'll get us some breakfast," he said. "Stay in bed, alright?"

Rose spent the rest of the day fighting the urge to ask him to tell her more about his parents. He had talked about his life on the road but only a little about his childhood. The stories he told were funny or sweet, but they didn't give her any real idea what his life had been like. She didn't know what his parents had been like, and she wanted to know. Where had he come from, really? Some of the answers had to be found in his early years, in his parents. But she knew it was a subject he didn't enjoy talking about. She could tell by his expression and the way he tried to focus only on light anecdotes.

Rose couldn't imagine losing a parent, let alone both in quick succession. But she also couldn't imagine being close to them, either. She had been sad when her father died, but it was the sort of sadness reserved for the death of distant relative or stranger. They never spent time along together. They knew nothing about each other. How could she grieve a father she never felt any connection to?

Her relationship with her mother wasn't must better, which had bothered her a little. Weren't mothers and daughters supposed to be close? In her own way, Ruth had tried to get close to her. She had taught her everything she deemed important. She had put her in the position to get Cal's attention, and although Rose detested the thought of marrying him, she knew her mother thought it was best for her. Cal was one of the most sought after men in their circle. Ruth would have been failing in her duty as a mother if she hadn't done something to help Rose secure him.

Jack's words stayed with her. He hadn't been critical, not exactly, but she sensed he thought his upbringing was superior. Perhaps it was. But she couldn't help being slightly perturbed, even though she knew it was ridiculous. What did matter who loved and cared for her as long as someone had? She had turned out just fine, hadn't she? And yet, part of her wondered what it would have been like to have a mother who was always there, who baked and spent her days at home, who checked for fevers with kisses. Would she have been happier? Would a mother like that still push her into the arms of a man like Cal? Part of her was sure she would.

They were getting ready for bed when he said, "They got sick." He kept his gaze away from her. "She got it first, and then he did. I didn't. When it—neighbor women came and took care of everything. They kept me away. Kept me outside and busy, so I wouldn't know and wouldn't catch anything. But how could I not know? It happened so fast once it got bad." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "It wasn't anything at first," he went on. "A cold, and then it got worse and worse. Winter was over by then, but that didn't matter. It was too late."

Rose hugged him from behind. He turned and wrapped his arms around her; he slumped down, pressing his face against her belly. He gripped her tightly. She rubbed his back and stroked his hair. She felt his tears through the thin shirt she worse. His shoulders shook. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. The look on his face was one of utter grief and fear. It pained her to see it. She wiped the tears from his cheeks. He kissed her hands. "I love you," he said.

He let her pull him up into her arms. His body rested in her embrace; he buried his face in her shirt, comforted by the mingling of their two scent. She rubbed his back and whispered soothingly. Slowly, he began to relax. She pressed her finger tips into the knots in his shoulders, massaging them away. He sighed gratefully. He had forgotten what it felt like to be taken care of; he had forgotten how good it could feel to put the burden done, even if just for a moment.

"I feel safe with you," he said.

She brushed the hair away from his forehead and kissed it. "You are," she said reassuringly. "I'll stay in bed as long as you want and drink the entire bottle of medicine if you want me to. But don't be afraid of losing me. We still have too much to do."

That night, they both slept soundly. Had they known what was coming, they might not have slept so well, or perhaps they would just had appreciated the chance to rest before the storm began.

**AN: The Edith Wharton novel mentioned was actually published in 1913, but it's got a lot of marriage and class commentary I can picture them discussing. If you're following my other stories, now that school has officially begun, and so has my quest for a doctoral program, I'll probably only get a chapter a week posted. I'm rotating the stories, but if anyone would rather I finish them one by one, let me know. And if you're reading but not reviewing, please review sometimes. **


	6. Chapter 6

Jack knew something was wrong the minute he arrived. No-one was joking or even smiling. The men stood or sat in small groups, their faces grim. A few sipped coffee; others spoke in hushed tones and kept their eyes down. It was a far cry from the atmosphere he was used to. "What's going on?" he asked a nearby co-worker, Tom, a burly Irishman with flaming red hair and a thick mustache. He spoke with a strong accent.

"We're going on strike," he explained.

"What?" Jack cried, too shocked to control his voice.

Tom shot him a look. "Don't go yellin," he said. "Can't ya see these are tense times?"

Jack kept his voice down. "But why're we striking? I'm not even in the union yet. Should I be here?"

"Why not?" Tom shrugged. "You've been working with us. They aren't payin you any better than they're payin us. Payin you worse, even."

"Yeah, but it's a job," Jack said. "I know it's not great, but I need the money. I've got a wife."

"Lad, we've all got wives. We've got children. Families. We need enough money to feed and clothe 'em. You can't make me believe that couple of dollars you make each week keeps you and the missus in plenty of food—quality food—let alone anything else."

"Well, no actually-

"Exactly," Tom cut in. "That's what the strike's all about. We've been askin, nice and polite, and they've ignored us. They've promised us raises, but we've never seen 'em. They've mocked us. But not anymore." Tom's green eyes flashed. "We're finally gonna make those bastards take us seriously."

"Yeah, but what if they don't? What'll we do then?" Jack asked. "Or while we're waiting? Aren't we all hungry _now_?"

"We'll all do what we can," replied Tom. "But it's better to try, even if we fail. You couldn't look your wife in the eye, knowing you could've done better for her but didn't because you were too afraid, could you?"

"When you put it that way," said Jack. "No, I couldn't."

Tom clapped him on the back. "Exactly."

….

Rose's spirits were high as she went into the office. Finally, she could breathe easily. There was no coughing, no aches, and no chills. There was color in her cheeks, and her eyes sparkle. Mr. Wheaton's office was empty, but she went to work anyway. Little by little, she had learned not only the routine of office, but also, the skills it took to survive in it. Her coffee was now as excellent as she had originally claimed. She could type quickly. She understood the filing system and had acquired a new vocabulary of legal terms. None of the other girls were any friendlier, but she tried not to let that bother her. They probably suspected she hadn't grown up in their world. Her former life had left an indelible imprint on her, from the way she spoke to the way she moved. She didn't try to fight it. Why should she change, even if she could? She hadn't done anything wrong.

She was typing a letter when Mr. Wheaton came in. His eyes moved over her, taking in her healthy appearance. Her head was bent over the typewriter, her jaw set in concentration. She really was quite lovely. He had hired her for that more than anything else. He liked having competent secretaries, but he couldn't pass up a pretty one, no matter what her skill level. "Good morning, Miss Dawson," he said.

She looked up, startled. "Good morning."

"Already hard at work, I see. You're putting me to shame."

His tone was genial, but his gaze felt heavy. She didn't like it. It reminded her of the way Cal had looked at her. "I wouldn't say that," she replied. "I got here early, so I thought I may as well get started. I haven't had much energy the past few weeks."

"Yes, I noticed you weren't feeling well, but you seem to be doing better now."

Was it her imagination, or was he moving closer? She pushed her chair back as he sat on the edge of her desk. If he noticed, he didn't let on. "I am," she said. "I'm much better, thank you." 

"I'm glad to hear that."

_It's all in your head,_ she told herself. _He hasn't done anything. _But then why did she feel so uncomfortable? _Don't say anything. He'll go away in a minute. _But he didn't move. His hand was nearly touching hers. She moved it back to the typewriter. He watched movements. His eyes flicked over her empty fingers. "Still not married?" he said.

"No."

"Engaged, didn't you say? He'd better get you a ring soon."

"I don't care about such things," she said.

"Everyone woman does," he said dismissively. "And how's a man to know you aren't single without one? He can't care too much about you if he's willing to let you go around like that."

He was leaning over her now. He hadn't touch her, but Rose was sure he was about to. The implications of his words weren't lost on her. But what could she do? She stood up quickly. "Excuse me," she said, moving to pass him.

He blocked her path. "Something wrong?"

"No, I just forgot something downstairs," she lied.

His gaze was probing, but she met his eyes. A small smiled played about his mouth as he finally let her pass. She forced herself to walk out of the office at a normal place. Once in the hallway, she let herself run, not stopping until she was safely in the kitchen. Her heart pounded. "Calm down," she scolded herself. "You aren't a child. He didn't lay a hand on you." But he'd wanted to. And eventually, she knew, he would. Or he'd try. There was no denying what was happening. The question was, what could she do about it?

"I can't tell Jack. He'd believe me, but I can't do that to him." Rose sighed. "He's the _only_ one who would believe me."

….

For Jack, the rest of the morning went by in whirlwind. Before he knew what was happening, he had accepted an offer to join the union. Because of the circumstances, they waived the dues and new member fees. No work was done. Instead, they spent the time strategizing, and the energy in the group gradually built. The strike hadn't officially begun, but it was only a matter of time. A committee was being sent to the heads of the company, and if their demands weren't met, the strike would be declared. Jack was assured everything would be fine. It would all be over quickly. But part of him wasn't so sure. Shouldn't he have talked it over with Rose before committing to any of it? Could they survive without the money he brought in, even for a couple of weeks? It wasn't much, but together, they managed to keep their heads above water.

She would understand. She would support their cause. She would want him to fight for better wages. How could they ever move on if they could barely save anything out of each week's earnings? He'd worked through lunch and stayed late for weeks to put something aside, but most of it had gone to medicine and food for Rose during her illness. That couldn't be helped, but maybe he could do something about what he was paid. Sure, he could always go looking for another job, but would it be any better? When he had been alone, having no money hadn't mattered. It was true, having nothing meant having nothing to lose. But how, he had something to lose, and more importantly, someone to take care of. If they could afford a better place, would Rose have gotten sick? Or stayed sick for so long? And what if it happened again? But he wouldn't let himself think about that possibility.

….

The day was nearly over, and Rose's tension had just begun to ease when it happened. Mr. Wheaton stood in the doorway to his office. She kept her eyes on the page she was typing and waited for him to speak. His gaze was still heavy, and it reminded her of Cal more than ever. Both looked at her with expectation. "Miss Dawson, would you come into my office?" he said.

There was nothing unusual in that. He had called her into his office before, dozens of times. But she knew this time was different. She couldn't have said why. She just felt it in the air. She sat in the chair opposite his desk, pencil and notepad in hand. Instead of returning to his own chair, he perched on the edge of his desk, directly in front of her. She straightened her back and lifted her chin. She knew she wasn't imagining it, but she refused to be intimidated.

"You've worked for me for a while now," he said. "How do you like it?"

"I like my work just fine, thank you," she said politely.

"This is your first job, isn't it?"

"No—"

"Don't lie. I know it is. I could see it the first time you walked in. But I gave you a chance anyway. I figured you could learn what you needed to know, and if you didn't—" He shrugged. "There were always other advantages to having you in the office."

Rose stiffened. "Such as?" Her tone was cool.

"You needn't be so reserved," he said. "You must know a beautiful girl like yourself has more than typing to offer. I'm sure that's the last thing anyone cares about. It's different for other girls, who lack your charms, but you don't need to be working so hard."

"Yes, I do," she replied. "I—"

"Need the money? Don't look so shocked. All the girls need the money, for one thing or another."

"I take a great deal of pride in my work," she said.

"Admirable, if unnecessary. Why doesn't a lovely young girl like you have a husband to take care of her?"

"I told you, I'm—"

"Engaged. Yes, I do remember something about that. But he's taking a long time, isn't he? One would almost think he isn't serious or doesn't care enough."

"He does!"she burst out. She clamped her mouth shut, ashamed of raising her voice. She couldn't let him see her feelings.

He smiled indulgently. "I'm sure he does, but given that there's no wedding in sight, why should you waste your charms on office work? There are so many more interesting things you could be doing."

Her eyes narrowed as he placed a hand on her leg. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she said indignantly. "And I can assure you, I wouldn't be interested if I did."

"I wouldn't be too hasty, if I were you," he warned.

She stood up, pushing the chair back with a loud clatter. He was on his feet now as well; he looked down into her face, his hands on her waist. "Take your hands off me," she ordered.

He moved closer. "Is that what you really want? Girls are always so confused."

Fury overcame the panic building within her. She broke free from his grasp. "How dare you!" she cried. "Nothing I've ever done has given the slightest indication that I—"

"What's there to be so upset about? You're a single woman, aren't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"And you're all alone, aren't you? A poor woman with no family. No husband."

"I—"

His hands were on her again. "I'm simply making a generous offer." She tried to move, but his grip was tight. His stare was hungry, and his hands moved as if ready to devour her. Cal had held her like this. "You'd do well to think it over," he added.

She shoved him back. Startled, he let go. She ran from the office, stopping only to grab her purse.

…

Mike, another burly Irishman, gave Jack a hearty pat on the shoulder and handed him a beer. "To our newest member!" he yelled, raising his own glass. The other men raised their glasses and in a chorus replied, "To our newest member!"

Jack wasn't sure how he had gotten there. They had been at the job site, and now they were in a bar. They appeared to be celebrating, but Jack wasn't sure what there was to celebrate. He was starting to feel uneasy. He agreed with them, but his worries about how Rose would react had increased. He told himself he had the right to do what he thought best, but everything he did affected her too. He didn't want to be the kind of man who made decisions for his wife or without her. But there wasn't time to ask her. Was that a good enough reason?

"We're glad you decided to join us," Mike said. "We need more men like you."

"I'm nothing special," Jack said.

"You're young and strong," Mike argued. "Exactly the type they wanta work to death for a few pennies. But we're gonna change that. Just wait."

"Have you been in other strikes?" asked Jack.

"Oh, a few," Mike answered.

"A few?" Tom laughed. "We've been in at least a dozen. Mike here's just being modest."

"And they went well?" Jack said, hoping he didn't sound skeptical.

"Sure," Mike said. "Sooner or later, they always do. Sometimes a few heads get busted, but that's the price of victory."

Jack sipped his beer, not hearing their talk, his belief that he had made the right decision weakening.

…

Rose walked quickly even after the building was no longer in sight. He wasn't following her, but she couldn't stop. Her stomach lurched; the feel of his hands wouldn't go away. "How dare he?" she hissed under her breath. "Who does he think he is?"

Her mother's voice rang in her ears. _Who do you think you are? How could you be so foolish as to let something like that happen?_

_It wasn't my fault!_

_Whose fault was it? Women invite these sorts of things. Rose, you were warned, weren't you? Warned about being alone with me. If a woman isn't absolutely respectable, and if she doesn't have a man to protect her, she's never safe. _

_I have Jack_, she argued.

_Some man he is, sending you out to work. Cal would never have done that. He never would have put you in this positon. _

But Cal had also been controlling. He had belittled her incessantly. He was violent. But he hadn't allowed other men to so much as look at her, and as free as she felt now, being poor was more difficult than she had ever imagined. With a sinking heart, she realized being more didn't mean being free; it just mean living under a different set of rules. With enough money of her own, she could live however she chose, but with none, she was at the mercy of anyone with a little power. Her boss was no different from Cal. He just wasn't as rich. Both thought they could treat her however they wanted, not only because she was a woman, but also because they had something she needed: money. Money couldn't buy happiness, but it could buy safety, security, a full stomach, and a warm bed. That was all she wanted. Was it so much to ask for? Why did the world insist she had to be degraded to get it? Why couldn't she have it on her own terms?

It was nearly dark when she finally went home. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, but she wasn't hungry. She decided the only solution was to find a new job, as soon as possible. She would quit the one she had without even going back. It would make things more difficult, but Jack still had his job. It was steady work. They would manage. They wouldn't be able to save as much, if anything, but that wasn't so bad. She couldn't face another day in that office. It was simply impossible. Jack would understand once she told him. But she couldn't tell him. "You already decided that," she reminded herself. It had been she who insisted they not marry. He would believe her, but would be blame her? Rose sighed. There was no way out. She had to marry him, no matter what principles she held. There wouldn't be any peace until she did.

She could always lie and say she was fired, but that idea was more than unappealing. Their relationship was based on trust. Lying, even to protect him, would be a betrayal. Perhaps just not saying anything would be best, after all.

They met in the hallway. Jack was on his way from the bathroom. His feet were bare. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. Water dripped from his hair, and his eyes were cloudy. He broke into a wide grin. "Rose!" he said happily. "There you are!"

She accepted his hug but eyed him with concern. His words slurred slightly, and his movements were uncoordinated. "Jack, have you been drinking?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

"I—Yeah, a little," he said sheepishly. "Is it that obvious?"

"Just a little?"

"I guess I didn't do a very good job of sobering up. All that bread I ate didn't help. I didn't want you to see me like that—like this," he said.

"Why were you drinking?"

"I didn't spend any of our money. They were free. Everyone else was. I had to. They're all still down there."

"Everyone else?" Rose said incredulously. "Jack, what are you talking about?" She tool his hand. "No, let's not discuss it out here." Once they were in their room, she said. "Tell me what happened."

"The guys at work and me, we went to a bar this afternoon," he explained. "They bought the drinks. I had to drink a few. I couldn't be the only one not drinking."

"Why weren't you working?" There was a shrill note in her voice that reminded her of her mother. She breathed deeply. "I'm sorry."

"See, I went to work this morning, but no-one was working," he said. She began brewing a pot of coffee. "We're going on strike," he went on. "Starting tomorrow. It became official around lunch, so—"

"So you went drinking," Rose finished. "To celebrate not having jobs."

"No. I mean—yeah, I guess we don't have jobs right now, but when the strike's over we'll have better jobs," he argued.

"You don't know that. And even if it does work out, it could be _months_ before that happens." Rose didn't want to lecture or fight, but she couldn't stop herself. "How could you do something like this without at least telling me first?" she asked, anger in her voice. "I thought we were equals in this!"

"We are, Rose—"

"It doesn't look that way to me." She moved away as he reached for her. "It looks like you decided something that would affect both of us without me."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Rose, I thought you'd agree."

"I do agree. You deserve more for what you do, but how will we survive while this goes on? You can't find another job until it ends. Jack, men are hurt during strikes. Killed. What will I do if that happens to you?"

"It won't happen to me."

"You don't know that!" she cried. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. In a normal voice she said, "I just wish you had told me first. I wish we could have talked about it."

He pulled her to him. She was tense, but she didn't resist his embrace. "I'm sorry," he said. "Really, I am. Rose, I just want better things for us. I got swept up in what they were saying. I wanna leave here as much as you do, but we need some money first, and I'm not sure I can find a job that'll pay enough to make that happen. At least this way, there's a chance. I'm fighting for it. I know it'll be hard, but—"

She laughed bitterly. "You don't know how hard it will be."

…

They spent the rest of the evening in near silence. The tension was too thick for conversation. Jack sat at the table, trying to draw. They had never disagreed before, and it made him feel like the world had been titled. She was right, he had to admit, but sometimes, weren't there decisions they had to made alone? Hadn't she decided they wouldn't have children? But that was different, and he knew it. They could barely afford to keep themselves, let alone a child, and although he intended to be involved as much as possible, it would affect her more than it would him. He could walk away whenever he wanted, and pretend none of it had ever happened, but she couldn't. Jack sighed. He wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right either. It was an untenable position.

On the bed, Rose held a book open but didn't read. Now, the plan of quitting her job was impossible, at least, until she found a new one, and when would she have time for that? Her lunch hour was the only possibility, and it would mean eating while running around from office to office. Just thinking about it made her tired. Doubts began creeping in. Could she even find another job? She was slightly more qualified than she had been, but she was a novice compared to most of the girls looking for work. And what were the chances of finding another boss like Mr. Wheaton? It was a sickening thought, but she knew he wasn't the only one. Even the protection of marriage might not deter some men.

Rose placed her hands over her face. He kept calling her pretty. That was the only reason he hired her. It seemed like that was the only think anyone thought she had to offer. Except Jack. A lump formed in her throat. She knew what she had wanted to do wasn't that different from what Jack had done, but it felt different. If only she could tell him. It wasn't a betrayal, but she couldn't help feeling like it was. Why hadn't he told her first? She knew it was silly, but it scared her. What if it happened again? What if it became a regular thing? Her mother had always told her all men were the same. Now, Rose wondered if she hadn't been right. Suddenly, Rose wished she could talk to her mother, really talk to her, in ways she had never been able to.

…..

Jack hesitated. "You can come to be," she said. She lay down and pulled the blanket over herself. Jack stayed on his side, not touching her. "You don't have to do that," she said, moving closer to him.

"I wasn't sure you'd want—"

"I don't want to sleep alone," she said.

He put his arm around her. She snuggled against him. He kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry," he said.

"So am I." She smiled weakly. "We survived our first fight."

"Are we okay?" he asked.

"Yes. And if we aren't, we will be. Somehow, we'll get by." She hesitated, not sure she wanted to say what came next. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him everything, but she wouldn't let herself. Instead, she said, "Jack, would you marry me?"

"Rose, you know I will." Curiosity shone in his eyes. "Honey, I wanted to marry you months ago, remember?"

"I remember. Would you now?"

He hugged her tightly. "Does tomorrow sound alright?" She pressed a hand to his cheek and kissed him, wishing the moment could go on forever, and they could stay just as they were, safe and warm and in harmony.


	7. Chapter 7

It only took a few minutes. Rose didn't know what she expected, but when it was over she didn't feel any different. "I'll get you a ring," Jack promised, as they went up the street. "Somehow."

"Don't worry about that," she said. "We have more important things to think about."

"I'll figure something out," he said. "So, you're going to work now?" He sounded a bit disappointed.

"No." She grinned. "I already called and told them I wouldn't be in today." She was assuming she still had a job, and as much as she hated to admit it, she hoped she did now that Jack no longer had one.

"Really? But—"

"You don't think we should spend out wedding day together?" she said.

"'Course I do," he said. His face fell. "We can't, though. I have to be at the job site. They'll notice if I'm not there."

He felt her tense. "I wish you weren't involved in this. Jack, it makes me nervous."

"I'll be fine," he said reassuringly. "If it looks like something bad's gonna happen I'll leave. I won't be part of it." He pulled her closer. "I'm doing this for us, for our future. I'm not going to forget that."

"I know you won't," she said. "But I can't help worrying. If something happens, it may be bigger than you."

When they reached the picket line she said, "Do you want me to bring you something for lunch?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice." He kissed her. "Don't have too much fun without me."

She laughed. "I'll try and restrain myself."

…

Rose bought two different newspapers and settled on a bench to study the job advertisements. There was precious little under the Help Wanted: Female column, and she read the Male column with envy. She couldn't do any of the jobs listed, but that wasn't the point. The people dividing up the ads didn't know that. They could have at least let her try. Surely, some woman somewhere possessed those skills.

Secretary. Stenographer. Typist. Office Girl. So many ads all saying the same thing. Well, she had been a secretary, more or less successfully. She could do it again. She opened the second newspaper and scanned the columns. Shop clerk. "I could do that," she mused. "Why not?" Newly determined, she circled the most promising ads and set off. She walked briskly, keeping her chin up. She could take care of everything.

….

The first interview was over before it began. Rose recognized the look in the man's eyes instantly. He didn't hear a word she said, but she kept talking anyway, too angry to stop. What right did he have to stare at her as if she were a display in a shop window? He shook her hand as she left, and to her surprise, offered her a job. "It starts Monday," he said.

"Well, I—Thank you," she said. "Monday?"

"Yes, at nine. Sharp."

She couldn't help feeling more confident as she left. She hadn't read him wrong. If she accepted the job—and she supposed, technically, she had—there was another harassing scene in her future. But the offer was nice all the same. And she might be wrong. He stared, but he might be harmless. She very much wanted to believe that.

…

"Rose!" Jack moved through the crowd toward her. He kissed her happily.

"Is this because I brought you lunch?" she joked.

"Yeah," he said with a grin.

She gasped, feigning outrage. "Never in all my life—" She laughed as he kissed her again. "Jack, people are staring," she murmured.

"They're jealous."

"Nevertheless," she said, in her most aristocratic tone. "We must preserve the dignity of our marriage."

"Anything you say, Miss—I mean, Mrs.—"

She grabbed his hand. "Just come and eat."

They found a spot on a nearby bench. "And what've you been up to?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing much," she said lightly. "I've been looking for a new job."

"Really? Any particular reason why?"

"I thought maybe I could find something closer to home or that paid more," she answered. "I doubt I'll get much more, but why not try?"

"Rose, I'm really proud of you. I knew you could do anything you wanted to, and you are." He held her hands in his. "We're gonna make it."

"Do you really believe that?" she asked, searching his eyes for doubts. She found none.

"I know if we stay together, we'll be alright."

Rose carried his words, comforted by them, as she went from one interview to the next. Another job offer finally came, but it didn't start for another two weeks. "The girl we have now is leaving," explained Warren, a middle-aged executive with thinning hair. "We won't need someone until she goes, but I think you'll do just fine."

Rose held in her excitement. "You're sure you want me for the job?"

He nodded. "You're the second girl to inquire, and just between us, I don't have time to see any more. They can all type and make coffee and do everything else that needs doing around her. You're obviously intelligent. I'm sure you'll do fine."

Rose allowed herself a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Banks," she said, shaking his hands.

"Be here at nine on the twenty-first," he said. "Mary will show you around that morning. You'll get fifteen dollars a week."

Rose couldn't believe her ears. He couldn't be serious. It was too much. But she didn't question it. She walked out on a cloud. They would have more than enough money now, even without Jack working, as long as they acted sensibly. They could still save. They could get out of New York. She hadn't realized how badly she wanted to leave until then. She felt so closed-in; the streets were narrow and dirty; they were always crowded. She wanted to see trees, hills, to feel a warm ocean. She wanted Jack to spend his days drawing, not risking his life for a few extra cents.

It wasn't until she was almost home that she remembered they couldn't go two weeks without money coming in. What was she thinking? There was no way around it. She still had to go back to her old job, but, she reminded herself, just until the new one began. Her stomach turned. "We need the money," she told herself. "You'll just have to make it clear that you aren't interested, and if that doesn't work…" If it didn't work, she would think of something else.

….

Their room wasn't dirty, but like the rest of the city now, it seemed that way to Rose. She gathered what few clothes they had, along with the sheets and towels, and locked herself in the bathroom, oblivious to any possibility of complaints from the other boarders. She scrubbed until her neck was stiff. Satisfied, she wrung out each piece. Who would have ever thought she would be on her knees, doing laundry in a bathtub? Or doing laundry at all? She pictured her mother's horrified face and reproachful remarks. Well, it made her feel good to accomplish a task, even one which was supposed to be beneath her. Jack was so skilled; she often felt ignorant next to him. He didn't try to make her feel that way. He was as encouraging as anyone could be, but she held her lack of experience against herself, even as she tried not to.

With the laundry hung out to dry, she stripped down to her underclothes, to preserve her dress, and set about scrubbing the room. The floor gleamed, the brass bed frame shone, and the fresh summer breeze mingled with the strong, clean scent of soap by the time she was finished. Sweat dripped down her back. Her curls were limp and damp against her head. She took their dishes into the bathroom, leaving them in the sink to soak, while she scrubbed herself in the tub.

…..  
She was pinning her hair back when Jack arrived. His tired eyes lit up when he saw hr. He forgot the heat and his ravenous stomach. "I don't want to touch you," he said, kissing her cheek. She smelled like soap and the coconut-orchid lotion she used. "I'm afraid I'll mess you up."

Rose laughed. "You can't be that dirty."

"I feel that dirty," he said. "You wouldn't think it, but marching in a circle and sweating can leave you filthy."

"Go have a bath," she said. "I'll bring you some clothes. They should be dry now, with this heat."

Jack noticed their room's sparkling appearance when he came back in. He whistled admiringly. "I thought it was fine before, but damn. It's like we were living outside before."

"It wasn't that bad," she said, placing plates on the table. "I just had an urge to clean. Clear everything out." She shrugged. "And I didn't have anything else to do. I suppose this is the sort of thing wives do."

"Wait for me next time, and I'll help."

"You don't have to," she said.

"I want to. No reason you should wear yourself out when we both can," he replied.

"That's a rather enlightened attitude."

"Hey, we said we were equals in this, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did," she said. "I'm glad you meant it."

….

Jack sat on the windowsill, watching the street below. He held his sketchpad on his leg, but he wasn't drawing. The sun was going down; the streetlights were blinking on. He heard children being called home. He could have found something to draw, but he actually didn't want to. It was nice just to watch. Rose lay on the bed, reading. He heard the soft rustle of the pages being turned and smiled to himself. At that moment, everything was as it should be.

Rose looked up as he sat down next to her. "Well, hello," she said. "I thought you were going to draw for a while?"

He shook his head. "Didn't feel like it."

She put hand on his forehead. "Do you feel ill?" she said, half-joking, half-concerned. "I thought you always itched to draw."

"Zat is true," he said in an exaggerated French accent. "But later. Now—" He placed a light kiss on her jaw.

"Now?" she said teasingly.

He slipped an arm around her. He brushed his lips across her cheek before finding her mouth. She was startled by the softness of the kiss. So often it felt as though they were trying to wring everything they could out of each kiss, each embrace, each moment, as if they still feared being parted. This was the way he had kissed her the first time, only now he was more confident. As she put her arms around him, she realized the fear was gone. They felt at ease, secure in the life they were creating together.

…

Rose walked in slowly, her arms hanging stiffly at her sides. Her hair was securely pinned up; the curls twisted and almost flattened in an attempt to subdue them. She knew it wouldn't help; it wouldn't change the way he thought he was allowed to see her, but she had taken extra pains to appear as neat and prim as possible. The office was empty. She sat down at her desk, determined to carry on as though nothing had happened. It was only two weeks, and she reasoned he wouldn't want another scene. Cal hadn't liked scenes; her father hadn't liked scenes. Most men, she decided, probably tried to avoid scenes when bothering women.

She braced herself as he came in. His gaze landed on her, and for a long moment neither of them moved. He seemed to be weighing his options. There was surprise but also amusement in his eyes. "Well, good morning, Miss—" he began.

She cut him off. "Mrs."

"Pardon?"

"Mrs. I've married," she said. She watched, blank-faced as reactions moved across his features. It was clear he didn't believe her, or he just didn't take her seriously. She didn't care as long as he kept his distance. _You need the money_, she reminded herself. _It isn't just for you. It's for Jack too. _

"I apologize, Mrs—Uh, what is it?" he asked.

Rose hesitated. Why hadn't she thought before saying she was unmarried and using Jack's name. Now, it would definitely look as though she were lying. "Dewitt," she answered. She felt guilty, but what choice was there? When the two weeks were over, she would never see this man again, so what harm would it do? She knew better than to use the full name; it was too cumbersome, and for all she knew, he might recognize it. The last thing she needed were questions about her family or past. Or worse still, a vindictive phone call to her mother. _Now, you're just being paranoid,_ she thought. _That would never happen. _

"Congratulations," he said. "I didn't realize you had plans to marry so soon. Are you intending to—" 

"I'll be here another two weeks." She stood up. "So, I suppose I'm giving notice, which gives you plenty of time to find another girl."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. She ignored the way his eyes roamed over her.

"It can't be helped," she said politely.

"Yes, well, I suppose we should get to work."

"Yes, we should," she said.

…

The table was already set. Candles were waiting to be lit, and Jack was clean and dressed in his nicest clothes. He greeted her with a smile and took her hand. "What is all this?" she asked. He handed her a rose. An oddly shaped, silver ring gleamed on the steam.

"It's for our wedding," he said. "You didn't have any flowers yesterday."

"But where did you—" She looked closely at the ring. "You—"

"I made it," he explained. "Out of a spoon. It's real silver."

"I can see that, but—"

"I got it from someone at work. Don't ask me where he got it. I don't know, and I don't need to know."

"He just gave it to you?" she said incredulously.

"More or less. He asked for a few drawings." Jack laughed. "I think he felt sorry for me. I didn't care."

Rose turned it over in her hands. It had an ornate design engraved on it; part of it looked like a sun. There was a J on it where a stone would be. He saw her notice it. "Yeah, that surprised me a little, but I thought that meant you were supposed to have it. I made another one," he said. He held it up. "For me." It had an R. "Thought it made sense for us to have the other's letter," he went on, becoming anxious.

"I didn't know you could do this sort of thing," she said.

"My mother knew how. She showed me. You can make just about anything from spoons. Or forks. Knives." He knew he was beginning to babble, but he couldn't stop. "Give me a little time, and I'll make you a bracelet out of spoons." He held his breath as she gazed into his eyes. Slowly, she leaned forward and kissed him. His hands found her waist.

"Can you really?" she said softly.

He grinned. "I really can."

"You're incredible, Jack." She reached up and took his face in her hands. "You _make_ things; you know how to create beautiful things. I thought it was just your drawings, but I haven't been giving you enough credit. Why can't I be like you?"

"You're like you," he answered. "You're like Rose. You don't need to be any other way."

….

Rose sighed gratefully as Jack's hands moved over her shoulders. His thumbs pressed into the tense muscles, and she let out a cry, part relief, part pain. He kissed her back, brushing his cheek across her bare skin. "You're so tense," he said. "Why, Honey-Rose?" He moved closer, putting his legs around her. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's nothing." She gasped as he found another knot.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No." Rose closed her eyes. Slowly, he unwound each muscle, kneading away the knots. When he finished, he lay her down; she was almost limp in his arms. Her eyes opened. He held her close, her back against his chest. "Go to sleep," he said. "You need the rest."

"You—"

"I'm fine." He kissed her shoulder. "Don't worry so much, Rose, please."

She felt sleep overtaking her. "I have to," she said. "I have to take care of us."

_Because I'm not_. He knew she didn't mean it that way, but he couldn't help thinking it. He was trying, but who knew when his method would show results? It had only been two days, but things were already getting restless. He sensed danger on the horizon, though he tried to ignore it. He listened to her slow, even breathing as she slept. Only two days, and already she was worrying herself into knots. Except it had been going on longer than that; it was just getting worse now. Maybe—He tried to block it out, but the doubts crowded in anyway. Maybe it was a mistake to bring her with him. Maybe he was just ruining her life and telling himself their being together was for the best.

…..

The first week passed without incident, for either of them, but the temperature kept rising, and by the second week tension hung thick in the air. Jack was looking for a way to quit, but no matter how he did it, he was sure to make enemies. Why, he asked himself, had he just jumped into this without thinking? He said it was for Rose, for the future, and that was true. But it was also for the thrill of it. Jack loved a good adventure, and now that he had Rose to consider, his days of hopping into boxcars, talking his way onto boats, and into jobs that would take him across the map at a moment's notice were over. The others chanted while he sat on a crate, feeling more ashamed by the minute.

He didn't notice the fight begins. He head the glass shattering, and the chants become angry shouts. He leapt to his feet in time to see the right morph into a brawl, spreading through the crowd like a fire.

….

The day started out smoothly, but by mid-morning Rose knew something was going to happen. She kept her eyes on her work, but her mind refused to stay focused. Her heart pounded. She told herself she was just being silly, but the change in the air was undeniable. It had been steadily worsening for days. She had felt this kind of tension before, as a child when her father came home drunk and angry, or the next morning when he was hungover and still angry. The entire house held its breath during those times, and now she couldn't shake the feeling that she was holding hers, waiting for the anger show itself. She wished she had asked her mother about those times; maybe if she had explained about Cal, but no, it was too late. The door creaked open, interrupting her thoughts.

"Would you come into my office?" Mr. Wheaton asked. His expression was normal, but his eyes were cold. "Miss—ah, Mrs—Could I just call you Rose?"

"I'd prefer if you didn't," she said. Notepad and pencil in hand, she followed him into his office.

"You like things formal, don't you?" he said, amused.

"I think it held maintain a working relationship. And that is the only type of relationship we have," she added, meeting his eyes. She stepped away as he reached around her to close the door. "What do you need?" she asked.

He moved toward her. "I thought we should talk," he said. "You're leaving soon, and I didn't want that unpleasantness from the other day to—"

"My experience was decidedly more than unpleasant," she said coldly. "If that's all—"

"There's no need to exaggerate," he said. She stepped back again, only to find herself against the wall. "I made you a simple offer, a generous offer, and you turned it down. That's all that happened."

His hands were around her arms; she wasn't sure how it had happened. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. She tried to break his grip but couldn't.

…

It was all a blur; the memory would come back in pieces throughout the night. At first, all she was sure of was somehow managing to stab him with the pencil. That was how she got away. She lay curled up on their bed, her torn dress wrapped around her legs like a pitiful blanket. She couldn't bring herself to do anything else. The sun slowly sank, and the clock ticked. And she waited for Jack, but he never came.

**AN: So, I've never actually made one, but I have several pieces of spoon jewelry, and you can make them with common tools pretty easily if you know how. **


	8. Chapter 8

Rose didn't remember falling asleep. Her neck was stiff, and her legs cried out in protest when she moved. The blue light of dawn filled the room. It only took one glance to see she was still alone. Panic welled up in her. Where was he? What if something had happened to him? Or maybe, she wondered, he decided this wasn't what he wanted after all. She didn't blame him if he had; wandering sounded much better than struggling along with her. He was a man; he could be free if he chose. Unlike her.

She washed her face and brushed her hair, hoping he would come back. She couldn't do anything about the bruise on her cheek, but it wasn't very dark, so she told herself there was a chance he wouldn't notice it. She was about to change her dress when Jack came in. His clothes were wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn't slept all night. His right hand was swollen and crudely bandaged. He had a bruise of his own, beneath his eye, and there was a tear in his shirt collar. But she didn't see any of that, not at first. Her relief was overwhelming, but it quickly turned to anger. It wasn't all directed at him; most of it had nothing to do with him. But he was there, and she needed to let it out.

"Rose," he began. "I'm sorry. I—"

"You should be!" she cried. Her voice was harsher than it had ever been. Jack looked as though he had been slapped, but she kept going. "Do you know how worried I've been?" she demanded. "Do you have any idea what it was like to wait here for you, all night, with nothing to tell me you were alright or even if you were coming back?"

Jack reached for her. "Rose, I'm sorry. I wouldn't've—"

Rose moved away, keeping out of his reach. "Don't touch me." She hugged herself. "Don't." The pain in his face melted her anger somewhat. "Please, Jack, don't," she said softly.

Now, he saw the bruise on her face, her torn skirt, and shaking body. He felt sick and like he'd been plunged back into the icy lake all at once. "What happened?" he asked gently.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. Rose, tell me."

She shook her head. "I needed you." A lump filled her throat, making it difficult to breathe. "That's all."

She flinched when he touched her face. Gingerly, he traced the outline of the bruise. He knew it was from a hand without being told. He knew the shape; it was from a palm. "That's not all," he said. "What happened? Who did this?"

Rose looked into his eyes. They were so blue, like the sky, and so full of hurt and love. "You could say I did," she answered.

"What?"

"I put myself in the situation," she said. "I don't know what else I expected."

"What do you mean—Rose, you didn't hit yourself," he said incredulously. "Whatever happened isn't your fault. If you're gonna blame anyone besides the bastard that did it, blame me. You're right; you needed me, and I wasn't here. But don't ever blame yourself."

"I suppose that's my mother talking," she said. "I thought maybe I was overreacting at first. Mother always said I overreacted to things, especially when I complained about Cal and the way he would—I didn't want to upset you over nothing. I thought if I just ignored it, he would stop. It got worse, though, but then you didn't have your job anymore, and Jack, we needed the money," she said all in a rush. "What else could I do? We had to eat, and you had enough to think about already. I—" She stopped, self-conscious now. She watched his eyes.

Jack took in everything she'd said. The sick, cold feeling grew worse, and guilt joined it. How could he have let this happen? He was her husband, even before it became legal, wasn't he? Hadn't he said so? It was up to him to make sure they had enough to eat and a place to sleep. It was up to him to make sure she was safe, and he had failed, spectacularly at all of it. What had made him think he wouldn't? The silk voice of self-doubt asked. Just because he loved her? It mocked him. What good did that do her? Could love keep another man's hands off of her? They were right, it hissed. He wasn't good enough for her, and he had no business getting anywhere near her. _You're ruining her life just because you're selfish. You wanted her for yourself. _

Jack breathed slowly, willing away the doubts. He'd failed; he'd made mistakes. But marrying her wasn't one of them. He would prove he deserved her, somehow. He would give her the kind of life she wanted, the life he had promised.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know that doesn't change anything, and it doesn't help. But I am. I'm sorry for not being here and for making you feel that way and for not seeing what was going on." Lightly, he moved his thumb across her uninjured cheek. "You shoulda told me. I'd never've—Rose, I wasn't thinking about you when I gave up my job, not entirely. I was thinking about me and what I wanted and the life I don't have anymore. I went along with those guys because part of me wanted an adventure, and I told myself it was for us and that you'd agree. But I was wrong. When you got angry, I told myself I wasn't wrong, that I could make choices on my own, but I can't. I guess neither of us can anymore," he said.

"Do you regret marrying me?" she asked. "Would you rather I hadn't come with you?"

"No," he said firmly. "Never. Not for a second, Rose. I'd rather be here with you, with things even worse than they are now, trying to get through it than wandering off somewhere else by myself."

"But you miss it," she pointed out.

"And there's stuff about your old life you miss, isn't there? You can't help it. Doesn't mean you wanna go back, or that you would."

"I _can't _go back, even if I wanted to," she said. "They would never take me back now."

"Not even your mother?"

"No. You're all I have, Jack."

He kissed her forehead and pressed her to him. "You're all I have too," he said.

….

Jack held her until she fell asleep. She hugged him tightly, her head on his shoulder. He rubbed her back, kneading away the knots with his fingertips. When he was sure she was asleep, he slipped out of bed. He left as silently as he could. It only took a few minutes to reach the office, and he moved quickly, his anger rising with each step. It was like a cloud swirling around him. She had told him the whole story, every detail. He knew what he was doing was risky; it was more than risky, actually; it could get him arrested again, and this time they wouldn't just hold him overnight. But he didn't care. It had to be done, and they were leaving anyway. He didn't know where they were going, just that they were. His efforts to be cautious and to plan their lives had failed, and perhaps, he decided, it meant they weren't supposed to do so. Rose had wanted his tumbleweed life, hadn't she? Well, he would give it to her, with as few of the dangers as he could manage.

He knew where door to go through. The outer office was empty, but he wouldn't have stopped if it hadn't been. Mr. Wheaton looked up, surprised, when he came in, but his expression turned to fear when he saw Jack's eyes. He moved to stand up, but Jack grabbed him before he could. He held him by the front of his shirt and jerked him from his chair, holding him slightly off the ground. Wheaton found his voice. "Get your hands off me!" he sputtered angrily.

"Is that what my wife said?" Jack demanded, shaking him roughly. "Is it?" He shook him again, hard enough to rattle his teeth.

"I don't know what you're—"

"Yes, you do." Jack's voice was eerily calm.

"Whatever she told you is—"

"Don't you dare call her a liar," Jack hissed. He slammed the other man into the wall. A picture crashed to the floor, the glass in its frame breaking.

…..

Rose was still asleep when he got back. He filled an empty milk bottle with water and placed the flowers he'd picked in it. Quietly, he prepared lunch, his stomach somehow growling. She had refused to eat breakfast, but she had to eat eventually. His hand was stiff and sore; the swelling was worse now. He re-bandaged it as best he could and wished they had some ice. He could only remember pieces of what had happened. All he knew for sure was he'd made that man pay for what he'd done to Rose. He didn't feel any better, though.

She rolled over, yawning. Jack sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he said softly. "I made us lunch."

"I can't eat."

"Honey, you gotta. You'll never feel any better if you don't," he replied.

"I don't know if anything can make me feel better."

"I know it feels that way now, but I promise, Rose, you'll feel better. I don't know how you feel," he said. "I can't. But I know you're afraid and sad, and I do know what that's like. I know what it's like to be so scared you don't know if you can keep going," he said. "You just feel alone, even around people, so you think you might as well be alone. And you're not sad; that doesn't really describe it. You're something else, something bigger, that can swallow you, and crying doesn't help. You don't have enough tears to satisfy it."

"That's part of it," she said. She sat up. "How did you get over it?"

"Time went by. I kept making myself get up and do things, live, and after a while, I didn't feel as bad. Eventually, I was happy; I was me again. I was different, but I still recognized myself."

"I don't feel safe," she said. "Not even in my own body. It's like it isn't mine anymore. Maybe it never was. I just want to get into a bath and stay there forever, but I know that won't help."

At that moment, Jack was sorry he hadn't killed him. It wouldn't have undone what happened, but he couldn't bear the thought of him going on with this life, forgetting all about it, while Rose had to struggle.

"Would you come with me?" she asked.

"Of course."

Jack sat by the tub while she bathed. He tried not to look at her too much. Staring at her wouldn't help anything; it might make her feel even worse.

"What happened to your hand?" she asked, as he held out a dress for her.

"I hurt it yesterday."

"It looks worse than it did before." She examined it closely. "I haven't even asked what happened yesterday. Isn't that awful?"

"No," he replied. "You had plenty to deal with, and it wasn't anything big."

"You were hurt, and you never came home. What do you call that?"

"Yeah, well, there was a fight," he said. "It was more like a brawl, and we all got arrested. They kept me overnight. There was no way to let you know. I kept hoping you'd hear about it somehow so you wouldn't think I'd left you."

"I did think you had, a few times," she said. "I tried not to, but it kept coming back. I told myself you'd be back, though."

"I'll always be back," he promised.

…..

There was no hiding the damage. Jack had made sure of that. His whole body ached, but his face was the worse. Bruised, swollen, and cut in a few places, it looked like he had been in the brawl. It only lasted a few minutes, but they were terrifying. Jack didn't struggle to hold back anger normally; he was exactly what he seemed to be, until threatened, and even then, he had to be pushed. He was always more interested in survival than revenge. But things were different now; Rose had made them different, and he had gone after justice with a little vengeance thrown in.

Cal's eyes widened when he saw him. He had dozens of lawyers, but none had ever walked in his office looking as though they had survived a collision with a train. "Good God, Robert," he said. "What happened to you?"

"I tried to convince myself it wasn't as bad as all that," Robert said.

"You're wrong. Don't tell me one of your office girls did that?" Cal said, amused by the image.

"No. Her husband."

Cal laughed heartily. "You found a married one?"

"She wasn't married when I hired her," Robert said irritably. "Now, are we going to do business today?"

"In a minute. Tell me the rest." Cal leaned forward, eager to hear more. Robert Wheaton's reputation for chasing the women who worked for him was notorious in certain circles, and it had never gone quite so badly for him. No brother or husband or anyone else had ever responded so violently, when they responded at all, and Cal was more than a little entertained by it. Not much had amused him in the months since _Titanic_. Navigating the scandal of Rose's supposed death, figuring out what to do with her mother, and then, when he was finally ready to go home, the announcement that he would have to stay and oversee the New York office for a while came. He couldn't argue with it; it came directly from his father, who, it had been hinted, was planning to retire soon. There would be more traveling in his future, if he expected to get control of the empire; they were expanding, and Cal had to be there to see that things went smoothly.

"There's not much to tell," Robert said. "Everything was fine. She said she wasn't married, so I hired her. She had no idea how to do the job, but she was lovely. She looked something like that girl you were going to marry. You don't see red-haired women too often." Cal didn't respond; he hoped to never see another one. "She did say she was engaged," Robert went on. "But she didn't have a ring, so I didn't really believe her. A man would appear sometimes, but he could've been anyone."

"And he did this?" Cal said.

"I thought he was going to kill me," Robert said, clearly offended by the idea. "I really did. He looked as though he might."

"Was it at least worth the trouble?"

"Almost. A little longer with her, and it would have been." Robert held up his bandaged hand. "She did this. Stabbed me with a pencil."

Cal couldn't contain his laughter. "You'll have to be more careful next time. What was her name, so I can avoid her?"

"Rose…I don't remember her last name."

Cal's blood chilled. "And you say her hair was red?"

"Yes, but—"

"You're right. We should get to work," Cal said. He didn't know what to do with this information, if anything, but knowing they were still together and in the city made him feel unsettled.

….

"Let's leave," Jack said.

Rose looked up from her food. "What?"

"Let's leave New York. Now. You've wanted to, and I kept putting it off. Let's just go. Stop worrying about things being perfect and just go."

"But Jack, we don't have enough money," she pointed out.

"So, we'll get it. We'll make it as we go. Like I always did."

"You said you didn't want to do things that way anymore," she reminded him.

"Yeah, and I didn't because I thought if we just planned everything right, we'd be fine. Nothing bad would happen, and you'd never have to know how hard this life with me really is. But I was wrong. As wrong as I could be."

"So, now you want to leave? Just like that?"

"Yeah. Why not?" he said. "You keep saying we can do it. Let's try. That's the life you wanted, isn't it? That's why you came with me."

"That's not the only reason."

"But it was part of it. That's what I could offer you."

"Wouldn't we just be running away?" Rose asked. "Something bad happens, so we get as far away from it as possible?"

"Sometimes running helps," he answered. "Sometimes you hafta put some distance between you and what's happened to help yourself go on." There was old grief in his eyes. She laid her hands over his.

"Where would we go?" she asked. "We don't have the money to get very far. Why bother if we're only going to make it a few miles?"

"Leave it to me. I can get us anywhere we decide to do."

"I believe that," she said. "But you didn't think your methods were good enough for me before, did you?"

"I was afraid," he admitted. "Of trying to live that way with you along. I made everything sound so good—better than it really is. I didn't want to disappoint you. I thought if we planned it right, and we had enough money, I could make traveling as easy as I made it seem. I didn't lie," he added. "I've never lied to you, Rose."

"But you left out how difficult things can be," she said. "Jack, didn't you think I knew? I was sheltered, but I had some idea of what awaited me if I went with you; although, my belief that being poor meant being free was certainly wrong."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Do you not feel free with me?"

"It isn't you. I would feel free with you even if you had all the money in the world, as long as you were still Jack. No, it's not you; it's more than you," she explained. "Maybe it's different for you, but I've learned that being poor might free in some ways—no-one expects me to produce an heir or decorate their life—but my feelings, my thoughts, they don't matter any more now than they did before. I'm still dependent on whoever has more money, on who can give it to me, only now I'm out looking for a decent job instead of a suitable husband. I'm at the mercy of the whole world, of every man, instead of just one. I'm a woman, and for some reason I'm considered attractive, so I always have those things against me no matter what. No matter how intelligent I might be or how well I might be able to do the job, no matter where I do—" She fought back tears. "But you don't look at me that way."

Jack enveloped her in a warm embrace. She sobbed into his neck. "I'll never look at you that way," he said. "I love you. I love the person you are, not just your beauty." He buried his face in her hair. "I'm gonna make you feel free," he promised. "I'll find a way; I won't let something like this happen again."

"But you can't," she said. "Jack, darling, don't you see? It's bigger than us."

…..

Rose held tightly to Jack's hand as they ran through the train yard. Their clothes fit into one bag, which he carried, slung over his shoulder. In her free hand she carried their food; they had enough for two days. They had gone over their savings, and they had a total of $15.93, more than she expected. But it wasn't enough for train fare for both of them, not if they wanted to eat or sleep indoors when they arrived at their destination.

"Here," Jack said, pulling open the boxcar door. He tossed their clothes in and helped her climb inside. It was dark, with only cracks of light filtering through. There were boxes and crates stacked all around, but it was clean and didn't feel confining at all. Jack swung himself up easily, and closed the door. Rose turned, startled by the loss of light. He put a comforting hand on her arm. "It's just until we get going," he said. "Only for a few minutes."

The train was bound for Missouri; they chose it not for its destination but for its departure time. Rose had never been to the Midwest, though, and Jack hadn't spent much time there, so it was as good a place as any. Secretly, he wondered if the police weren't looking for him, though he didn't intend to tell Rose that; he wasn't sure how she would react. He wasn't even sure how he felt about it, now that a little time had passed. Also, he liked the idea of getting back to the country, or at least, to smaller cities and towns. Towns that were too small came with suspicious residents and hostile police, but he knew how to spot those. He wanted to believe having Rose along would change the reception, but he wasn't certain. It might make things worse, and as he now knew all too well, she was vulnerable in ways he wasn't. He had known it, but he hadn't thought about it before. It just hadn't seemed possible that such a thing would really happen. It wasn't an act he understood; Jack didn't derive pleasure from power.

They sat against the back wall. Rose took his hand as the train began moving. She had been quiet since their last conversation, the previous day. Jack felt her pain, but he didn't know how to help. He didn't know how to make her feel safe again, which bothered him more than anything else. He had promised to take care of her, but as the doubting voice in the back of his mind kept pointing out, clearly he couldn't. So, he just did the best he could, waiting for her to tell him what she needed. He tried not to touch her too much or unless she invited him to. She hadn't told him not to, but he could tell there were times when it made her uneasy. They had always been so comfortable with each other, from the beginning, and they both felt the loss of it.

The train picked up speed, and Jack opened the door, letting in the sunny day.


	9. Chapter 9

They sat on the edge of the car and dangled their legs, watching the country go by. Jack assured her they could fall out as long as they didn't slide too far over the edge, and none who saw them while the train was moving could do anything to them. It didn't much matter; they saw no-one, only trees and fields. The country, Rose realized, was beautiful. Her whole life had been spent in cities with brief visits to rural estates and summer houses, but those weren't anything like this. They had manicured gardens and carefully cultivated forests. They weren't real, not the way what she saw now was real. The world was lush and green, and the sky was a deep blue. Jack sat next to her, his hand almost touching hers. They rode in a comfortable silence. By the second day her spirits began to lift, and she placed her hand over his. She glanced at him, and offered a smile. He smiled back, holding in his questions.

The trip took three and a half days. They only stopped once, and for a moment they considered getting off right then, but going on to their original destination seemed best. When Jack realized their food wouldn't last for the whole trip he stopped eating. He accepted sips of water but refused any food. "I'm not hungry," he said.

"Jack, you have to eat," Rose argued. "I'm hungry, so you must be. We haven't eaten since yesterday. Have something."

"I'm fine," he said. "Really, Rose. I don't need anything. You eat." His empty stomach protested, but he ignored it. If he told himself he was fine enough times, he reasoned, eventually he would be. It had worked before. Going a couple of days without a meal wasn't so bad. Rose ate little, not wanting to eat in front of him. Better for them to be hungry together.

"What will we do when we get there?" she asked.

"What would you like to do?"

"Be happy," she said. She looked over at him. "Whatever that means."

"Me too," he said.

The St. Joseph train depot was bust when they arrived. They climbed out of the car quickly, trying not to attract attention. Their stomachs growled, and they needed baths. Rose's muscles were stiff from sleeping on the hard, wooden floor. But they had made it. They were somewhere new, and everything looked better now. The optimism she had felt when they landed together in New York returned. Their life would be a good one, after all. Rose buried the memories of the last few weeks, determined to put the whole awful mess behind her. She didn't realize such events cannot be pushed aside so easily.

She grabbed Jack's hand as he led her through the crowd. No-one looked twice at them, and they were glad. There was comfort in anonymity. Rose especially welcomed the lack of attention.

They found a small diner not far from the depot. The smell of food made Jack dizzy, or maybe that was hungry. He had insisted on carrying their bag, but now Rose took it. "Sit down," she said, holding him with her free hand. He wobbled before settling into a chair.

Jack ate greedily, barely tasting it. Rose restrained herself, but she didn't pretend not to be hungry. "You can't do that again," she said.

"Do what?" he looked up, toast in hand.

"Not eat," she said.

He ate half the toast in one bite. "Won't kill me," he said. "I've done it before."

"Not with me, you won't," she replied.

"I didn't want you to be hungry," he said.

"Do you think I want you to be?" she asked.

"It's different," he argued. "You—"

"I'm not any more valuable than you are, Jack," she said. "Not my comfort nor my life."

"You are to me."

"Don't say things like that," she said. "It scares me when you talk that way. It's as if you don't care about yourself."

"You know I do," he said. "I'm not trying to scare you. I just want you to know how I feel. Rose, I love you. You mean more to me than anything else. More than anyone has in a long time. More than my art, even."

"Then you have to take care of yourself too," she said. "I don't want to lose you."

"Not gonna happen," he promised. There was fear, a deep fear, in her eyes, but when she blinked it was gone. "We're gonna be alright," he said. "I promise." He wanted to add that he was scared too. Scared of making more mistakes, of not protecting her, but he kept it to himself. There was a time to tell her, and it wasn't then.

….

Things cost less in St. Joseph. They found two rooms for that one cost in New York, and they were in a better part of town. Their apartment even had a small bathroom. They took it on a weekly basis. They didn't know how long they wanted to stay. Rose didn't want to stay anywhere for long; she still hoped to live out Jack's stories about traveling, moving on whenever the urge took them. Unpacking took only a few minutes, and they found themselves looking across the bed at each other.

Jack spoke first. "We'll need something to eat."

"Yes," she agreed. "We have a kitchen now." Even in her own ears her voice sounded awkward. She hated it. They had left, so why couldn't they just be easy with one another again? It was the bed, and they both knew it. It conjured intimacy, sleeping together, talking, making love, things neither of them was sure would happen again.

"Do you want to come with me?" he asked. "To get things, I mean. We can't afford much, but…" He trailed off, not sure what to say next. She knew how much money they had. There was no reason to tell her. But the look she gave him made him think she wanted him to keep talking. The space between them was so small, yet it was overwhelming. She had come as close to him as she could; it was up to him to go the rest of the way.

His words came out haltingly at first, but then more quickly as he gained confidence. "Rose, I love you," he said. "But I'm scared. I'm afraid of failing you again. Until now I haven't been afraid of not being good enough. I knew I didn't compare to—but I thought I could make you happy; I could take care of you. You believed in me, so I did too."

"So, we're both afraid," Rose said quietly.

"That doesn't mean I'll—You can trust me," he said. "You know you can."

"You don't have to convince me," she said. "Knowing you're afraid too doesn't lessen my confidence in you."

"It doesn't?"

She shook her head. "It makes me believe in you more. I don't know why. You're so human," she said. "Not like Cal or any of the other men I knew before. We're the same. I find that comforting, Jack. We can help each other. It's not just you taking care of me because I'm too delicate to get by without you."

"I've tried not to make you think that," he replied. "I didn't want you thinking less of me, though. That day when you were sick I couldn't stop myself. You made me feel like everything would be alright. How can I do that for you?"

"I don't know," she answered. "Keep doing what you're doing, I suppose. Just having you around, close to me, helps. I know how difficult that must be. You're such a doer," she said affectionately.

"Wanna come shopping with me?" he asked again, holding out his hand.

"Yes."

….

Their money would go further here than in New York, but they would still need to find jobs quickly. Jack hoped to find something that paid enough so Rose wouldn't have to work. He didn't necessarily object to his wife working, but he didn't put to put that burden on her anymore. They pored over the two newspapers together, searching the want ads. "I guess I should say I have experience, but no references," Rose said wryly. "At least that won't be a lie."

"I never have references," Jack said.

"Well, how could you?"

"Exactly. Don't worry about it," he said. "And if you don't find anything, you can always keep house," he joked.

"We don't have much to keep," she pointed out. "Or was that a comment on my housekeeping skills?"

"I'll say it was the first."

"Wise choice," she replied.

They lay on their stomachs, elbows propped on pillows. The bed was larger than their old one, but they were close together, in the middle, anyway. Rose moved even closer, so they were touching. Jack was warm where she touched him; he wanted to hold her. More than anything, he wanted to lie there with her in his arms and just talk. But they weren't there yet. He held her when they slept, but that was all. Jack wondered if she missed him as much as he missed her.

Sighing, rose turned over onto her back. "We aren't going to find anything. Not today, at least."

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

"It's Wednesday. That paper's from Sunday. All those jobs are filled by now," she answered.

Jack rolled onto his back. "Good point. We could go get the Wednesday paper."

"We can afford to wait and get the Sunday paper, can't we?"

"Yeah," he said. "As long as we don't buy any diamonds over the weekend."

Rose laughed. "Well, we already have so many," she said. "What would we do with more?"

"Put 'em in your hair." Instinctively, he reached out and brushed a hand over her curls. "Sorry," he said, taking his hand away.

"No, it's alright. I think we should put them in yours too."

"In mine?" he said. "But then I'd have to fight the girls off even more," he said.

Rose laughed again, louder this time. Jack loved the way it sounded. She lay her head on his chest, looking up at him first and asking, "Do you mind?"

"Of course not." Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her.

…

The job was advertised as a handyman, but Jack quickly realized what they really wanted as a general caretaker. The place was an old hotel near the edge of town. During the summer it was open to tourists and hosted dances and parties for locals as well, but when winter came it closed down. Someone was needed to keep everything in good repair during the busy months and look after things during the off-season. The previous caretaker, a single man, had quit without warning. The frazzled owner, a short man in his mid-thirties, told this to Jack without thinking. The strange young man just had the kind of face that makes a person feel comfortable, he thought.

"I inherited this place," he explained. "Just last year. I wasn't intending to go into the hotel business. I didn't even want it; my cousin Phil did. But anyway, I don't want to hire another single man—"

"That's fine," Jack said. "I'm married."

Richard's eyes brightened. "Oh, well, that does change things. What did you say your name was again?"

"Jack Dawson."

"Well, Jack, you've done this sort of work before?" Richard asked.

"I've done just about everything," Jack answered. "I can fix anything. I can handle most tools, and what I don't know I usually figure out."

His air of casual self-assurance impressed Richard. "And your wife, she could help you?"

"Sure." Jack said. It occurred to him perhaps he shouldn't volunteer Rose for anything without asking first, but the job was perfect. What could be better than working together? They would both be earning money, and he would know she was safe.

"You'd have to live here," Richard explained. "There are quarters in the back, a small house. You live for free, but you provide your own food, coal, things of that sort."

"We can manage that."

Richard's relief was visible. He had been sure finding someone would take weeks. "You'll each get $20 a week during the off-season. During the busy season you'll get $25, and she'll get $15. There's more to be done indoors during the winter," he said. "During the summer she'll really only need to assist you, if you need it, that is."

Jack knew better than to argue about the difference in their earnings. They didn't have to pay Rose at all. "When do you need us?" he asked.

"Immediately, if that's possible."

"I think we can do that," Jack said.

…

"Rose!" Jack called excitedly. The front room, with its tiny kitchen in the corner, was empty. "Rose!"

"In here!"

She sat on the floor, sewing a tear in his shirt. "What's wrong?"

He dropped down next to her. "What if I told you I found a job?" he said.

"I'd say that's wonderful."

"What if I told you I found us both a job?" he asked.

"How did you manage that?" she said. When he finished explaining she leaned back against the bed, her mending forgotten. "They'll pay us to live there?" she said, not quite believing.

"And to keep things nice," he said. "Outside mostly, during the summer, and in the winter we pretty much keep the place clean and standing."

"It's quite a lot of money they're offering, isn't it?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah, it is. I guess they have it to spend." He took her hand. "We could do a lot with it," he added.

Rose knew he was right. The job would allow them to take care of themselves and still save money. Dollars this time and not just dimes. They could have more food. She hadn't gone hungry yet, but there were nights when she sensed Jack was, only he wouldn't complain to take more to eat. They could have new clothes as well. Jack needed new boots. They were almost out of soap. All of her stockings had holes in the feet. Taking the job was the smart thing to do. It was the only thing to do. "We'd stay through the winter?" she said.

"We can't travel when it gets cold anyway," he said. "We can always leave in the spring if we want."

"Alright. Let's do it."

"You really want to?" he said.

Smiling, she nodded. "Yes. When is something like this going to come along again?"

"Stick with me, and it'll come again," he said grandly.

"I believe that." She kissed his hand. "I need to finish this."

"I'll get our stuff together," he said.

…

The house was indeed small; it was more of a cottage than house, but to Jack it was more than large enough. And after living in one room for so long, it was perfect to Rose. Now they could be in separate rooms. Jack could draw, and she could sleep, or she could read while he slept. It didn't matter; the light could be one for one and not the other. It was such a simple thing, but it meant a lot. There was a full kitchen, which slightly intimidated her. The cupboards were already filled with dishes and cookware, but what would she do with them? Perhaps, she told herself, she could find a book to learn from. And Jack wouldn't demand complicated meals.

The house was finished, but it had no personality. The shelves were bare; the curtains were plain white. But they could easily fix that. "I wish I still had my paintings," Rose said wistfully, eying the blank walls.

"They'd look nice here," Jack agreed. "Maybe we can find something like them."

"Yes, there must be something."

They spent the last of their money on food. For the first time since they ship—and even longer for Jack—they had meat. They had all the makings of a good meal, though Rose didn't have the first clue what to do. She turned to him, hoping he could offer some guidance, but he had little to offer. "I don't know how to make very much," he said sheepishly.

"You don't?" she said, surprised.

"Did you think I did?"

"Well, yes. I hadn't thought much about it," she said. "I just assumed you knew how you. You know how to do everything else."

He couldn't help grinning. "Everything else, huh?"

"That's how you make it seem."

"Let's try and figure out something," he said. "Between the two of us I'm sure we can. How hard can it be?"

"You're right," she said brightly.

But it was much harder than they realized. With no recipes to follow they were making things up as they went, which instead of making it easier, actually made it more difficult. Jack had a vague idea of how certain dishes went, but without exact measurements for ingredients he had to rely on guessing and taste. Rose followed his lead. Unfortunately, ingredients can't be taken out once they're added.

"Try this," she said, offering him a spoonful of potatoes.

He made a face. "More pepper."

"You're sure?" she said.

"Definitely."

But when he tried them again he sputtered and cougher, overwhelmed by the added pepper. "Too much," he gasped, tears in his eyes.

"Here," she said, filling a glass with water.

He drank it in one gulp. "Thanks."

"Now what?" Rose asked worriedly.

"I guess…more butter?" he said. "To soak up the pepper a little?"

"Do you think that will work?"

"Sure it will," he said confidently. It diluted the spice somewhat, but it also turned their attempt at fired potatoes into lumpy, mashed potatoes. The corn turned out mostly alright, but when they tasted it, it was chewier than it should have been.

"How did that happen?" Rose wondered. Jack had no explanation. The chicken was nearly impossible to cook thoroughly. No matter what they did the middle simply wouldn't change color. Finally, Jack turned the burner up to its highest setting and left it until it was nearly burned. The only thing that presented no problems was the bread and butter.

Rose looked at the meal they had prepared, spread out on the table, and laughed. Jack watched her curiously, the laughter overtaking her. She shook, tears streaming from her eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm fine," she gasped. "It's just—" She giggled. "Jack, we cannot cook. At all."

"Sure we can." But now he was laughing too. "We just hafta keep trying."

Finally, their laughter subsided. They dried their eyes, feeling empty, as if they had been purged. Rose didn't look quite so worn down now, though he still saw a heaviness in her eyes.

"We can get a book and learn," she suggested.

"Good idea."

They looked at each other across the table, and Rose realized learning was exactly what they were doing. It was what they had been doing since the night they met. Learning to be together. And there were no instructions; they had only their instincts to follow, the cues the other gave. But they weren't doing too badly.

….

That night when Jack put his arms around her, she lay as close to him as she could, feeling safe again.


	10. Chapter 10

"What do you think?" Jack asked, holding up the frying pan for her inspection.

"They certainly look like eggs," Rose replied brightly.

"Well, that's better than what you said yesterday. Let's hope they taste like eggs too."

The kitchen was already starting to look as though it belonged to them. It was their second week at the hotel. They had replaced the plain curtains with light green ones. The table now had a lace cloth over it, which was actually just a large piece of lace Rose found in a sale bin. There was a stack of cookbooks, all bought secondhand, on the counter. One recipe at a time, they were learning to cook. Or so they hoped. Thus far, their efforts had been less than stellar, but nothing compared to the utter failure of their first dinner.

Jack slowly took a bite of his eggs. He was surprised—and delighted—to find they not only tasted like scrambled eggs, but they also tasted _good_. Rose ate happily. "I think we're making some progress," she said. "Well, you are at least."

"You made the toast," he reminded her.

"And we all know what a challenging task that is," she joked.

"Did you see it when I made it that last time?"

"Yes, I suppose it is challenging," she said. She took a sip of milk. Even that tasted better. Maybe it was just being in a smaller city, or maybe she was beginning to appreciate milk. Before, it was something she rarely drank, but Jack seemed to love it. It made sense, she reasoned. It was such a wholesome drink. Nourishing. Why wouldn't he love it?

Jack looked over at her. She was so deep in thought her brows were knitted. "Whatcha thinkin about?" he asked.

"Nothing really. What are we doing today?"

Her avoidance of the question worried him a little. She seemed sine; with each passing day she seemed better and better, but he knew what had happened was still weighing on her mind. They hadn't talked about it again, and he was reluctant to bring it up. He didn't want to risk reopening the wound. But could such an experience ever really be left behind? He still felt guilty over surviving the sinking. Sometimes he woke up, suddenly, cold and sure he was back there. He would hold Rose against him and listen to her breathing. It soothed him, but he never made it back to sleep.

"I've gotta fix some loose shingles, up on the roof," he said.

"Do you want any help?"

"I should be able to handle it."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "It sounds difficult."

"I've been on roofs before," he said confidently. "There's nothing to it."

"Do you think I could come along anyway?"

"You'd want to?" he said. "Sure, if you like. I won't turn down help," he added with a grin.

"Aren't I _supposed_ to be helping?" she reminded him.

"That's true. They're paying you less," he reminded her apologetically. "You don't have to go climbing the building."

"I shouldn't complain," she said with a shrug. "At least they offered me something. With my history, I'm surprised to get anything at all, and so far no-one's chased me." She tried to make it into a joke, but the words fell flat. Jack studied his hands. "I'm sorry," she said. "I—"

"No, I get it. What you're trying to do," he said.

"I thought it might help—make it less—weaken it."

"Does it?" he asked.

"A little," she replied. "I'm trying to leave it back there, but it won't stay." She played with her ring nervously. Had she said too much? The last thing she wanted as for him to think she wasn't alright. If he knew about the sudden bursts of fear or the way the memory came upon her sometimes, out of nowhere, he would worry. He'd hold her even tighter, and his guilt would worsen. It would consume them both. They would never be happy again. How could they be? No, she told herself. The best thing was to keep quiet. It was the best thing for both of them. She ignored the voice that tried to remind her keeping quiet had only made things worse before.

…..

Rose clung to the ladder for a moment before stepping onto the roof. It was slanted in places and flat in others. Jack reached for her hand. "You alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm fine. It's funny, hanging off the ship didn't make me this nervous."

"Probably the water. And you had something to hold on to."

"And I didn't intend to walk away from it," she said. She moved across the roof, finding her balance. "You had to show up and spoil my plans."

"I always did have trouble minding my own business," he said with a grin.

"How do we do this?"

"See where the shingles are loose?" he asked. "We just nail them back down."

"That's all?"

"That's all. But see here, where some've blown off?" He pointed to a blank patch. "We have to put new ones down."

"That doesn't sound so hard."

"It's not, really," he said. "Being comfortable up here is probably the hardest part. And it's boring."

"How could anything this dangerous be boring?" she asked.

Soon, Rose was able to move around the rooftop with ease, though. Jack gave her a hammer and box of nails, and they each worked on a different area. At first, the hammer was heavy and awkward in her hands. She hesitated when she brought it down on the nail and nearly smashed her fingers instead. This happened a few times before she gained the confidence to hit the nail square on the head. Jack worked faster, but she didn't let it bother her. Of course he knew what he was doing. She couldn't expect to be good at this, could she? It sounded right, but she was still annoyed by how slowly she went.

They finished one half of the roof before lunch. As they were climbing down Richard came outside. "Hello," he said cheerfully, waving. "Settling in just fine, I see."

"Doing our best," Jack said. "We should have the other half of the roof finished today."

"Fine. That's just fine," Richard said. "You don't know how glad I am that it's getting done."

"It seemed like a good place to start," Jack said. "We didn't really see any other big projects that needed doing." Rose liked the way he kept saying _we_, as if she were an equal part of things. It made her want to be even more involved than she already was.

"No, right now it's mostly just general maintenance," Richard replied. "Like we discussed. But the grounds do need some looking after."

"We were gonna start on that tomorrow," Jack said.

"That sound fine," Richard said. "We've got a rather large party coming next month, so we have to start getting things in order now. I'm afraid the usual appearance won't do."

"What's wrong with it?" Rose asked. "This is a lovely place."

Richard smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Dawson. I think so too, but these people are accustomed to the very best of everything. It'll take a lot to impress them, I'm afraid."

"We'll manage it," Rose said.

….

Richard's words stayed with her for the rest of the day. She didn't know why, but they reminded her of Cal. That was silly, though. He would never come there. She doubted he even knew where St. Joseph was, unless he had some kind of business concern there, but he couldn't come himself if he did. No doubt, it would be too minor to receive his full attention. _Stop looking for reasons to be worry, _she told herself.

"We did well today, didn't we?" she said.

"We sure did," Jack replied cheerfully. "Especially you."

"I didn't do so much," she said. "I might have slowed you down, actually."

"No. I couldn'ta done as much today by myself. You helped, Rose, really." He laid his hands on her shoulders. "You did great. You figured out how to hammer a nail faster than any First Class girl I've ever known. I'm proud of you."

"Is that a skill you've taught many of us?"

"Maybe," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Usually, I show them how to use an axe, but you already figure that out on your own."

"Fortunately for your hands," she said.

"And you," he said jokingly. They were gazing into each other's eyes now. "I get the feeling you like them."

"I do," she said softly. His hands slipped down to her waist. When they kissed it was tender with just a hint of urgency. Rose let him pull her closer; she put her hands on the back of his neck. It was perfect, just the way kissing him always was, but then something changed. She couldn't explain it. She pulled away, suddenly struggling to breathe.

"Rose, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. I—Shouldn't we start dinner?" She managed to keep her voice steady, but he saw the fear in her eyes. It wasn't there long. She knew how to hide it. But it had been there, and that's what mattered. Jack wanted to ask why, where did it come from, but he wasn't sure she'd answer. He hated the way it kept happening. _Is it me?_ he wondered. Had he done something to remind her? Or would she remember when they got close, no matter what?

"Sure," he said.

….

They didn't sleep that night. Jack lay against her back, his arm around her. She pressed his hand over his. But they didn't sleep, and they didn't speak.

…

"Good," Jack said. "Now, just press the dirt down all around it."

"Like that?" Rose said.

"Yeah, exactly." He smiled encouragingly. "You know how to plant things now."

"Let's wait and see if they live first."

"They'll live," he said.

"How can you tell?" she asked. They looked like ordinary plants to her, small maybe, but still ordinary.

"I just can," he replied. "They'll be fine."

"Can we do the roses now?"

"Sure."

Here, in the bright day-time, everything was better. It always was. Being outside with Jack, learning to be useful, made Rose feel better than she ever had. Her hands were dirty, and her nails were breaking, but she didn't care. Her mother would have been horrified by the sight of her. She would have been horrified to see Rose on her knees in the dirt, work boots on her feet. Rose smiled to herself. This wasn't sitting around and being decorative. She stole a glance at Jack. The sun brought out the gold in his hair. His eyes were even bluer. His hands were dirty, and dirty was streaked across his face, where he'd tried to wipe away sweat. The heat was already oppressive, and it was barely noon. Jack turned up the water jug, and she watched him drink, admiring his beauty. He caught her eye. "What?" he said, grinning self-consciously.

"Nothing." He offered her the jug, and she took it. The water tasted like his kisses. She was startled by how much she wanted him. In an instant she imagined it, right there, in the soft grass with the scent of flowers all around them. She wouldn't pull away.

Jack touched her arm. "Rose, are you alright?"

"What?" she said distantly. "Oh, I'm fine." It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him her thoughts, but she held back. She had never been ashamed of herself with him, nor was she ashamed of her desires or the things they did together. But this seemed even bolder than everything that had come before.

Jack took in her flushed face. "Maybe we should take a break," he suggested. "Do you feel light-headed?"

"A little," she answered.

They retreated to the cool shade of the trees behind the shed. Rose re-pinned her hair, but sweat made it heavy and uncooperative. Finally, it was off her neck again. Jack filled a bucket with cold water and doused himself with it. He looked at Rose; she nodded. She sighed gratefully as the water poured over her.

"Could you do that again?" she asked. "Please?"

"Sure."

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Jack sucked in his breath. She was so beautiful. Her fair skin, damp curls struggling to break free, and her wet dress. The next bucket of water only made it worse. He resisted the urge to kiss her. The sun was already drying them. He wondered what it would be like to make love right there, in the sweet smelling grass, with the sun on their skin. Neither one guessed how alike their desires were.

…

"What're we trying tonight?" Jack asked.

Rose flipped through one of the cookbooks. "How about meatloaf?" she suggested. "It doesn't look complicated, and I've never eaten it."

"It's not. My mother used to make it. It's good; you'll like it," he said.

"Did she?" Rose said, intrigued. She hoped he would say more, but he didn't.

They gathered the ingredients and set about putting them together. Rose giggled nervously when it came time to put her hands in the raw meat. "It feels so strange," she said. "It seems dirty, like we shouldn't be doing this."

"Want me to do it?" he offered.

"No, I can. I'm learning to be useful."

They had just put it in the oven when he said, "She didn't really like touching raw meat either. She hated it, really."

"Your mother?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah." He could see her as clearly as if she were there. The carefully pinned up hair. Her small hands. "She was delicate," he said. It was the first time he'd said it' it was the first time he'd really thought about it. After she died, he thought about them little, only allowing the most basic memories through. "I don't know why she married my father," he added.

Rose imagined it was his mother's soft features she saw in his face. It made this woman she would never meet seem more real and approachable. "She loved him," she said.

"He loved her. I know that much."

"But?" she prompted gently.

"Sometimes it was like she wasn't supposed to be there," he said slowly. "I think my father was afraid she'd leave."

"Were you afraid of that?"

"No. I never really thought about it," he said. "Whatever was going on with them, they didn't let it touch me. I didn't see it for a long time."

"You're lucky, Jack. My parents weren't so courteous."

"Was it bad?" he asked.

"Not as bad as it could have been. My mother loved my father," she explained. "God only knows why. He proved he didn't care about either of us in the end. Sometimes," she went on. "I wondered if he lost the money deliberately because he knew he was dying. I wonder if he left us penniless and in debt out of spite."

"He was your father," Jack said. "Why would he do that?"

"I was a mistake. Only one child and a girl? That was acceptable." She shook her head. "He never forgave my mother. It's more than possible, Jack."

"I can't believe a father wouldn't do whatever he could for his daughter. _I_ would."

"I know," she said affectionately. She kissed the corner of his mouth. "I love you, Jack."

He brushed the curls away from her face. "I love you, Rose-Petal."

"You can talk about your life then. If you want to," she said. "I'd like to hear about it."

"You would?"

"Well, of course. I want to know everything about you."

"You already do," he said. "Everything that matters."

"I know what a good man you are, how talented you are, but I want to know more about how you got this way. Whenever you're ready to tell me."

"Do you feel guilty for leaving your mother?" he asked.

"I feel guilty for so many things, Jack. I wish things were different and she could have the same life she had before, and I wish there was a way I could have helped that didn't involve marrying Cal or any other man like him. Or that she could find a way to be happy, even without the money. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno. Sometimes, I feel bad about leaving, like I shoulda stayed and kept on with that life."

"Were you happy there?" she said.

"Not enough," he answered. "I would've left eventually. When they died, it was the push I needed. There was no-one to miss me. I was free, as awful as that sounds."

"You miss them very much, don't you?"

"Not so much until I met you," he said. "I wish I could take you back there, let 'em meet you."

"I can't imagine what they would think about me. There's no way your mother would ever consider a girl like me good enough for you."

"Don't say that," he said.

"How could she? I'm not even sure I am all the time," she said. "But I'm trying to be."

Jack put his arms around her. "I don't want you any other way. You know that."

Rose pressed her face against his chest. She breathed in the scent of his shirt; the smell of his freshly washed body was mixed into it. He hugged her, resting his head on her curls. "Don't worry about that," he said. "Don't feel bad about it, alright? If it's not something you want right now, it's not something you want."

"But I do," she whispered.

"Then why—"

"I can't. I want you, but I can't," she explained. "Something happens; it scares me. I can't stop it."

"Is it me?"

"No." She shook her head. "You're wonderful. Through everything, you've been so good to me."

"It's my fault, though."

"I didn't say that. I don't blame you, Jack."

"Rose, you don't have to," he said. "It is, whether we admit it or not. I let that happen to you."

"I didn't tell you what was happening, everything that led up to it. I was so sure I could handle it on my own. It's my fault. I should have—"

"Don't you say that," he said firmly, looking into her eyes. "You said that before, and it's still not true. I don't want to hear you talking like that. I'm supposed to protect you. I shoulda known something was wrong."

"I just want to forget," she said. "It's even worse than the sinking. I felt so guilty about surviving and having you with me; I still do. But this—" Her voice trembled. "I feel so afraid and sick, for no reason. Without warning. It just comes. I want you to touch me, but when you do—it's like a cures, like Cal or someone getting revenge on us, or maybe it's a penance for daring to survive and for thinking we could be happy, when so many others never had a chance."

"That's not what this is," Jack insisted. "We had as much right to survive as anyone else. We didn't cause the ship to hit that iceberg. We just did what we had to do. What anyone woulda done. We didn't keep people away from the boats, and we didn't decide not to have enough. I know how you feel," he continued. "I feel it too. Not all the time, but some nights I can't sleep from it. I can't breathe. But you're there, and that helps."

"I'll get over this," she promised.

"Feel whatever you hafta feel," he said. "I'll be here to go through it with you."

Rose pulled him into a kiss. It was warm and comforting. It soothed the ache in them both. "Will you hold me?" she asked. "And tell me stories? Like you did before?"

"Sure I will."

…

Jack's voice filled the darkness. "I hurt him," he said. "You were asleep, and I went—"

"You don't have to tell me," Rose said.

"It doesn't help. I know that. But—"

"You tried," she said. "The only way you could. That's enough."


	11. Chapter 11

"We don't have anything we need to do today," Jack said. He stretched lazily. "Everything's taken care of."

"Is it really?" Rose said.

"Haven't you noticed that frantic pace you've kept us working at?" he said amiably. "We're done with chores that were on the list for next week."

"I haven't kept us working too hard, have I? It didn't seem like two much to me," she said uncertainly. "And I'm just a poor little rich girl," she added, with a soft laugh.

"It's fine, Honey. I like that about you."

"It isn't—"

"No," he said firmly. "We already talked about this. You're great just the way you are. It's that way you'll climb up on a roof and start swinging a hammer that I love. That's better than all the porcelain doll acts you could put on."

"I don't know why I still get nervous," she said.

"Being told all your life you're not good enough the way you are takes time to get over. I've heard it a lot. I know."

"If we're not working, then what are we doing today?" she asked.

"I had some ideas," he said with a grin.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really." His hands rested lightly on her waist. A flirtatious smile played about her lips. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to toss aside ever plan he'd made for the day and take her to bed right then.

"You don't care to share them with me, do you, Jack?"

"Surprising you's more fun," he replied.

…..

"Am I dressed right?" Rose asked.

"Fine."

"You won't tell me where we're going, so I wasn't sure what to wear," she said.

"You'll find out in a minute."

Jack led her to the back of the house. Rose wondered what could possibly be interesting about that, but then she saw them. Two bicycles leaned against the wall. They gleamed from a fresh polishing. They had baskets, and one had a bell. "I know it's not the horses we talked about," he said. "But we'll get there."

"Jack, this is wonderful," she said happily. "I've wanted a bicycle for so long, but I wasn't allowed to have one."

"Not ladylike enough?"

"Not at all," she said. "No well-brought up girl would put herself on display like that." She rang the bell, and her smile widened. "It's a good thing I married you."

"I'm guessin you want the one with the bell," he said.

"Unless you'd rather have it," she offered.

"No, you take it."

Rose kissed him. "Thank you for this."

"I'm glad you like it."

"But where did you get them?" she asked.

"Found 'em," he said. "They were left behind by someone. It's alright for us to use them. I cleaned them up. They're in great shape."

"I don't know how to ride a bicycle," she said, approaching it warily. "Can you show me?"

"Sure I can."

It took a few tries before Rose was able to get on the bike and remain balanced long enough to actually get somewhere. Jack hadn't ridden since his time in Europe, but it came back easily. He went slowly, so she could keep up. "Where are we going?" Rose asked.

"You'll see. Just trust me."

They rode through town. From this vantage it looked completely different. Rose pedaled faster, more comfortable now. She loved the rush of wind through her hair. She felt as if she were flying. Jack held his hands up and grinned proudly. He was showing off for her, and she knew it. "But can you beat me in a race?" she challenged.

"To where?"

"That bridge up ahead."

Rose was off before he could respond. Her legs worked furiously. She felt herself beginning to sweat. She hadn't felt the heat much, thanks to the speed of the bicycle, but now it pressed down on her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack catching up to her. She pushed herself to go faster.

Laughing, she came to a stop on the other side of the bridge. "I win!" she cried triumphantly.

"I'll get you next time," Jack said, struggling for breath. "So, you're having fun then?" Rose kissed him in reply. "I like that answer," he said. "But I didn't really hear it all. Maybe you should tell me again."

"I'll have to say it slowly so you don't miss anything," she said. He pulled her close as she kissed him this time.

…..

They rode around for the rest of the morning. Finally, hot and out of breath, they stopped for lunch. Rose caught sight of them in the diner's window. "We look like ruffians," she said, trying to smooth her wind-blown hair. She had even more freckles now, or maybe that was just in her mind. "Or rather, I do," she said. "You like fine, as always."

"You look fine too," Jack said, taking her hand. "You look beautiful and happy, just the way I hoped you would."

It was cool inside, but after the bright day it felt dark; it was almost like stepping into night. "You're sure we have—" she began.

"Don't worry about money today."

"How can I not?" she asked. "I know we don't have unlimited funds, even if we have more now—a lot more."

"You're right," he agreed. "But don't worry about that now. I promised you adventures, and today, we're having one. It's not everything we said we'd do, but it's what I can give you right now."

"Jack, you don't have to give me anything. You've already done enough. I'm happy, really, in spite of everything that's happened. I'd still rather be with you than anywhere else."

"Just because you married me doesn't mean I have to stop trying," he said.

"Well, if that's what you want," she said, with a shrug and a smile.

…

"Am I to assume we aren't going home yet?" Rose asked.

"That would be correct," Jack said haughtily. He threw his head back. "It's a special day, remember."

She shoved him playfully. "What next then, Mr. Dawson?" she said, in her own haughty tone. "Or is it another surprise?"

"A surprise."

"Of course," she replied. "I should already know that."

…

Jack guided her forward. "Alright, open your eyes."

Rose was indeed surprised to find herself surrounded by clothes. Dresses, camisoles, stockings, anything a woman could need. It was all new, and it looked almost as expensive as her old wardrobe. "What are we doing here?" she asked.

"We're here for you."

"What do you mean? Why?"

"You need things," Jack said. "And I want to get them for you."

"I have clothes, Jack, I—you—"

"Not new ones," he said. "I want you to have at least one new dress, something no-one else's worn, something you want."

"We don't have the—"

"Don't worry about money today. Remember?"

"But Jack, this is too much," Rose protested.

"Let me do this for you, Rose. Please?"

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?" he shrugged.

"You need things too. Don't pretend you don't. We have to get clothes for you too," she said firmly.

"Alright," he agreed.

The choices were overwhelming. Rose had never been allowed to pick whatever clothes she wanted. First her mother and then Cal's preferences always had to be appeased before her own. And there was so much more here than in the small, secondhand shop they had gotten their meager wardrobes from in New York. She ran her hand over the fabrics, loving the way they felt.

She got more than she thought necessary, but Jack insisted. "Now you," she said. Choosing for him went faster. He asked her opinion, for the first time unsure about his clothes. He'd never given much thought to them, but he'd never given much thought at all to how he looked. Jack wanted to look nice for her, but he felt strange saying it. He wanted her to be as proud to be next to him as he was to be next to her.

….

"Don't tell me there's more," Rose said.

"One more thing."

"What else could you possibly have planned? When did you have time to plan all of this anyway?" she asked.

"I made time."

The sun was low in the sky; it was finally beginning to cool down. They walked at a leisurely pace, pushing their bicycles. "You hungry?" Jack asked.

"Yes." Rose gave him a suspicious look. "Is that part of it?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

They ate dinner in a small French restaurant. It was tucked away in a corner, and they had to go down a narrow set of stairs to reach it. Inside it was lit by candles. Each table had a vase with a single rose in it. Jack took theirs and put it in her hair. "You are, you know," he said.

"I'm what?"

"A rose."

She kissed his hand. "And you're the hero in all of those stores my nurse told me before I went to sleep."

"Then you're a princess."

Rose shook her head. "No. They weren't princesses, just ordinary girls who found magic and love and were happy."

Later, as they danced, he said, "Magic?"

"You don't think our love is like magic?"

"I never believed in it," he said. "I guess I have to now."

…

Rose didn't realize how tired she was until they were back home. It was a cool night; the breeze blew the scent of flowers through their window. Jack pulled her to him. She waited for him to kiss her, but instead he began dancing, humming for music.

"You aren't tired yet?" she said.

"No."

"Neither am I." And suddenly, she wasn't. Her heart beat faster. Jack seemed to sense it. He cupped her face with one hand; the other rested on her waist. Rose tilted her head up and kissed him. When he hesitated, she pressed him closer. She led him over to the bed.

"Rose—"

Gently, she shushed him. "Just come to bed with me, Jack."

…..

If there wasn't anything specific that needed to be done, they worked in the garden. It was Rose's favorite task. Jack liked it too. He hadn't done anything like it in a long time. She wore a wide hat to keep the sun off her face. He just got more tan. She burned and freckled. He liked the freckles, but she wasn't so sure about them.

"See, I told you they'd live," Jack said. It was a few weeks after the planting, and the flowers had begun blooming.

"You were right," she said. "You do know something about this, after all."

"Was there a doubt?" he said, feigning shock. She just smiled and shook her head.

They were finishing for the day when it happened. A group was coming up the front walk, all well-dressed and talking animatedly. They carried luggage, but they didn't look happy about it. "Hey," one of the men called to Jack. He had dark hair that reminded Rose of Cal. He carried himself in the same way. Jack turned, surprised by the address. "Yeah?" he said.

"How about you come and help with this." It wasn't a question. The man held up a bill. "There's money in it for you."

Rose saw the shadow pass across Jack's face. His jaw tightened, but he got up and brushed dirt from his knees. "Sure," he said. She followed him, surprised by his response. She wanted to tell him to ignore them, but her voice was gone. She shook the dirt from her gardening dress and helped him carry the group's luggage.

Rose knew he felt the stares as much as she did, but he never left on. She heard the women tittering and was sure it was about them. She caught a fragment of a sentence, one of the men saying, "beautiful, even if—" and saw Jack suck in his breath, as if trying not to speak. Clearly, he heard the rest. When they were finished, he took the money the man held out, coldly but politely. With a nod, he reached for Rose's hand, and they left.

When they were safely outside again, Rose said, "What just happened?" Jack didn't respond. They just kept walking. "Jack," She pulled him to a stop. "Jack, talk to me," she insisted.

"I don't know how," he said. "Not about what just happened. Not yet. I—" He clenched his fist.

"Why did we do that?"

"Because we had to," he answered. "If we'd ignored them or told them no, we could've lost our jobs, and we can't do that. Things are too good here."

"But that had nothing to do with our jobs," she argued. "We were already doing our jobs."

"I know, Honey-Rose, but it doesn't matter. They have the money; they make the rules, remember? If they complain, we'll be in trouble," he said. "I wish it wasn't like that, but it is. I wish you hadn't been there."

"Why? This is my life now too. I know I'm not part of that world anymore."

"But I didn't want you to ever see my like that," he said.

"Like what?"

"Powerless, even more than I am already." Jack sighed. "I pretend we're in control of our lives, but sometimes—I can't ignore that we're not."

"I understand," she said. "Jack, you know I do. And I've never thought of you that way. Not once. I see you the way you are, strong, resourceful, kind. I don't care if anyone else sees it because I do, and what they think doesn't matter, not to our marriage, not to me."

"That's how you see me, huh?" he said.

"That's part of it. Why did you think I married you?"

Jack shrugged. "I—You love me. I know that. I don't always know why though. Part of me's still waiting for you to realize you made a mistake," he said. "I have _nothing_ to offer you, and I know that."

"Don't talk like them," she said. "Don't talk like my mother and Cal and all the rest of them. Jack, you're better than that. You're angry now, and you have every right to be. So am I. But we haven't changed."

"I love you," he said softly. He kissed her. Rose put her arms around him, and he laid his head on her shoulder. They held each other as the sun set behind them.

…..

All she knew was that Rose was alive. Ruth didn't know where she was, or if she was still with Jack. All Cal would tell her was they were together in the boat. "But why did you let her leave with him?" she'd asked.

Cal couldn't explain that in the moment it was the only choice. What they had just survived was so much bigger than her leaving him; it was bigger than his jealousy, his hatred for Jack, his desire for her. He was glad just to be alive, and he'd known it would be a futile effort. Rose would have thrown herself into the freezing water rather than come back with him, and in that moment, Cal accept her decision. He accepted Jack's unspoken vow to fight for her. It sounded absurd now, and safely on dry land, rested and warm, he wondered how it could have happened.

As far as anyone else knew, Rose was dead. They had a funeral for her, and he mourned, publicly at least. Ruth's grief was real, though most of the time she held it in check. It wasn't clear whether she was grieving for the daughter she'd actually lost or the one she wished she had, the Rose she always imagined. She didn't think deeply about it. What was the point? Rose, whoever she was, was gone. Cal was taking care of her now. The debts had been discreetly dealt with. She was able to keep the house and most of the staff. Her monthly expenses were paid. It was almost the life she would have had anyway. In some ways she was happy. At least, she told herself, she wasn't poor, struggling to survive.

But Rose's absence nagged at her. Where was she? Some days Ruth hoped Jack was everything he had seemed to be. But other days, when she was angry and hurt, when she was lonely, Ruth hoped he wasn't. She hoped Rose regretted her choice.

But always, she wanted to see her again; only, she didn't know how.

…

They had been given the task of cleaning up the wooded walking trails around the hotel. This included packing the dirt back down, clearing weeds, branches, and any other debris. They raked leaves and gravel, making smooth, easy to navigate paths. "These look too neat," Rose complained, as they finished up on section. "Shouldn't they look like paths through the wilderness?"

"But they don't want that," Jack pointed out. "They want a place where they can take nice strolls, not meet fairies."

"Oh, I'm sure there are still a few around."

"You believe in fairies?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. It's a nice thought, isn't it?"

"When I was in Ireland I heard a lot of stories about them," he said. "The wee folk," he added in a bad Irish accent. "You might not wanta meet them."

"I'll risk it," she said airily. "When we got to Ireland, let's go back to all the places you went, even if we only ever just talk about it, like the pier."

"No, we'll do it," he said. "We'll do both."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'll take you to dances and walking all over the hills," he promised. "It's so beautiful there. We'll look for fairies and pots of gold."

"Think we'll find any?"

"Maybe." The way he said it made her believe it was more than possible.

"I'm really happy here," Rose said.

"Me too. I'm glad we got outta New York. We should've left sooner. All the bad things were too close. We couldn't start off right there," he said.

"Maybe you're right," she said thoughtfully. "But things are good here. I want to stay for a while."

"We can do that."

"But we'll still travel," she said.

"Of course we will."

"When we have our own paths," she said conspiratorially. "They'll be wild and natural. We'll have flowers and trees everywhere. Birds."

"Birds?"

"I love birds," she explained.

…..

Rose made breakfast the next morning. She was proud of her efforts. Everything turned out the way it was supposed to. Jack ate heartily, she enjoyed watching him eat almost more than she enjoyed eating herself. It felt good to give this to him, even if it was such a small thing.

When they were finished and the kitchen was clean again, he kissed her, "I'll be back in a little bit," he said.

"Where are you going?"

"Got an errand to run," he said. "You'll find out. We've got the morning off. Relax a little. Enjoy being alone. I know you want to be sometimes. You can't like having me in your hair constantly."

"It could be worse," she said.

Rose was preparing lunch when he came back. He had a small cage with a parakeet in it. "I love birds," she said, smiling and shaking her head.

"You told me."

"And you _listened_," she said.


	12. Chapter 12

Virginia the parakeet sang along with Rose. They decided it was a girl; her face was a girlish one, or at least, as girlish as a bird face can be. Neither of them had any way of knowing one way or the other. So she had been christened Virginia because Rose liked the sound of it.

She threw open the windows, letting in the fresh morning air. Jack was already up and off to work. It was supposed to be their day off, but he'd gotten up early, without waking her. As the big event drew near, anxieties ran high. Jack worried about their jobs, despite the good reports they were getting. He tried to hide it, and Rose didn't press him about it. As far as she could see he didn't have any reason to worry. Rose did her best to keep a hopeful outlook, but she didn't think she was deluding herself.

The little house didn't need much work. She went over it carefully anyway. Nothing was out of place; not a speck of dust could be found. Rose walked through it proudly. It was _theirs_. She took care of it, keeping everything clean and nice. How could anyone give these tasks to someone else? Those were Jack's drawings on the wall, and over there was a painting they chose together. She sewed the curtains hanging in their bedroom. It had taken a few tries, but finally she'd gotten it right. She sewed all the stitches by hand. Rose smiled to herself, remembering the way Jack kissed her and said she was wonderful when she finally finished. No-one else had ever said that.

Rose was making lunch when Jack came back. His sleeves were rolled up. His hands were dirty, as were his pants. He placed a kiss on her hair, careful not to smudge her.

"What were you doing?" she asked.

"Checking up on the garden. It's looking good," he said.

Rose watched him wash his hands. 'Are you going back out after lunch?"

"I don't know. Maybe. If I feel like I need to do more."

"Jack, don't work too hard," she said. "We get days off for a reason."

"I won't," he grinned. "I've done worse than this for less. Don't worry, Petal."

"Well, wake me up next time," she said, unsatisfied.

"But you're so cute when you sleep."

"And so are you," she replied. "Maybe I'll get up early and get some work done so you can sleep next time."

"Not if I get up first," he teased.

"You can't."

Her face was close to his; he reached for her, his hand finding her waist. "I can," he said.

"I won't go to sleep," she challenged.

"Neither will I."

The argument ended in a kiss. Rose put her arms around his neck, not caring if she got dirty. "You smell like the sun," she whispered.

"Maybe that's why we go so well together," he said. "Roses need the sun, don't they?"

"This one does."

…..

They got up early the next morning. The gardens had to be watered. The flowers were flourishing, just as Jack said. Rose felt as proud of them as she did of the house. _We planted these_, she thought. She knew they didn't really belong to them, but it felt that way. They worked in them. Shouldn't that give them some rights? She scolded herself for thinking so foolishly. Of course it didn't.

And yet, she couldn't help feeling outraged when one of the guests, a man in an expensive suit with arrogant eyes, began picking flowers. He snapped them off the stem, one by one and laughingly presented them to his companion. She took them with a laugh of her own. Had they genuinely enjoyed the flowers Rose would have felt differently, but it was obvious they found them ridiculous. They mocked the act of picking flowers instead of buying them. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes narrowed.

"Let's go see what else needs doing," Jack said, taking her hand.

"Jack, they—"

"I know. C'mon."

A fuming Rose allowed herself to be led away to the toolshed. When the door was closed she burst out, "How can they do that? Don't they care someone puts work into this?"

"No, Honey, they don't," Jack said.

"It's not right. How can they be so thoughtless?"

"Lots of people are like that," he said. "They can be, so they are. You know that. Don't get so upset; it's not worth it."

"I don't think I really did know it before," she said. "I thought if I got away from my mother and Cal and their circle everything would be better. People would be better. That's stupid, isn't it?"

"It's not stupid. It's naïve, maybe, but you shouldn't stop thinking the best of people," he said. "And who wouldn't expect the rest of the world to be better after being around him for months?"

"You must be getting tired of watching me learn all about life and the real world," she said. "I'm sure I was just as bad as those two back there. I just didn't realize it at the time."

"No-one's perfect, Rose," he said gently. "You've grown so much since we met, not always for reasons I want to think about. I didn't want you to learn how hard the world is so fast, but I love the way you keep going. I love the way you question everything and how upset you get over unfairness and how badly you want people to be better. You want them to be as thoughtful as you are."

"I want them to be like you, not me."

"You give me too much credit," he said.

"I'm not too harsh or unrealistic, am I?" she said.

"No. I'd like everyone to be a bit more like you, even when you're a spoiled little brat," he said, smiling.

"I've gotten better."

"I know." He kissed her forehead. "Don't worry about the stupid things people do. We'll plant some more flowers. We know our work matters, even if they don't."

"We do," she agreed.

There was nothing else to do for the moment. The gardens were taken care of. The paths were neat. All the paint was still fresh. Nothing was broken. Nothing needed cleaning outside the hotel. "I guess we're free for a while," Jack said. "What do you want to do with this unexpected leisure?"

"Let's go bicycling again," she suggested eagerly.

Ten minutes later they were flying through town. Riding was even easier now. Rose kept her balance expertly. "Watch!" she called to Jack. She held her hands up. Worry flickered through his eyes. She put her hands down. "Still intact," she said.

…..

Ruth knew the chances were low. Rose could be anywhere. She could be dead. No, she couldn't be dead. Ruth refused to be believe that. At worst, she was with Jack, married and pregnant already. And finding her might prove impossible.

The detective stared at her, and she stared back until finally he lowered his eyes. Her expression didn't change, but she smiled on the inside. "I want discretion," she said. "No-one is to know about this."

"I understand," he said. "Believe me, Mrs. Dewitt-Bukator, I know how important discretion is. You can't succeed in my line of work without it."

"Can you find her?"

"Yes, I believe I can." He took a notebook and pen from his desk drawer. "Where was she last?"

"New York."

He made a note. "Uh-huh. Can you be more specific? Do you know when she left?"

"No," Ruth said. "I don't even know if she's left. That's what I'm hiring _you_ to find out."

"Is she married?"

"I don't know. Possibly."

"But there is a man involved, isn't there?" he said.

"What makes you ask that?" she said sharply.

"In cases like this, there's always a man involved. What do you know about him?"

"His name is Jack Dawson." She sounded as if the words tasted bitter. "He's an artist, or so he says. He's a tramp, really, a shiftless vagabond. God only knows where he's taken her."

"Now we're getting somewhere." He made more notes. "Do you have a recent photograph of your daughter?"

"Yes. I brought several." She handed a stack to him. "You can't tell, of course, but her hair is a very striking red. Picking her out of a crowd would be easy."

"Everything helps," he said.

….

"You don't think we've got enough?" Jack said. His arms were weighted down with books.

"That's only seven," Rose said. "We're allowed to take out ten."

"That's true, but we can come back whenever we want," he reminded her.

"I guess you're right," she said regretfully, putting a book back on the shelf. "I love coming here. I want to take everything home."

"Let's just take these and hope our bikes don't tip over," he joked.

"We do go through them rather quickly. Maybe we don't need all seven," she said.

"No, we picked these. We'll get 'em. This thousand page epic on the bottom should keep us occupied for a couple days at least."

The man at the desk gave them an odd look as he checked out their books. They were clean and fairly well-dressed, though their clothes didn't match the quality of the books they chose, or so he believed. They were an intriguing couple. He saw them come in at least once a week. Always, they brought in a stack of books and took out another stack. He wondered if they actually read or, if they were just for show.

"Thank you," Rose said pleasantly, taking the books.

"Want me to help?" Jack asked.

"No, I can manage."

The ride home always took longer than the ride there. Pedaling with five pounds in the basket required more effort. They didn't worry about rushing. Evening was setting in, and they were tired from the morning's chores. A storm had blown down several branches the night before, and they were up at dawn clearing them away. Then the gardens had to be tended to. They went up on the roof to check for leaks and missing shingles.

Dark clouds gathered overhead. A strong wind blew, whipping Rose's hair around. In the distance thunder rumbled. Without a word, they pedaled faster.

They reached home just as the rain began. It pounded on the roof. Outside, the world was already dark. "Gonna have more to clear away tomorrow," Jack predicted.

"I hope it doesn't kill everything this time," Rose said.

"We'll plant more if it does."

"You always say that, Jack."

"Because we always can," he said. "We won't give up, no matter how many storms come. Or how many people pick them," he added.

Rose kissed his neck. She laid her face against his shirt. "I love that about you," she said. "You're always so optimistic."

He put an arm around her. "I try."

…

Rain blew in when they opened the windows. "The whole world may wash away tonight," Rose said.

"Surely not the _whole _world," Jack replied.

"Maybe just the parts we don't like then."

"There are parts we don't like?"

"There must be," she said. "We haven't been everywhere yet, so we don't know."

Jack laughed. "Alright. Makes sense. Do you want me to put the tea on?"

"Would you, please?"

When the tea was finished they took a book and two mugsful and settled into bed. "You picked the thousand page one," he said. 'So, we're gonna be up all night?"

Rose jumped as lightning crashed outside their window. "If the storn doesn't let up a little, we will be," she said.

Jack moved closer to her. "It can't hurt us," he said. "We're inside."

"I know. It's the noise that startles me." She opened the book. "Shall I read first?"

"Yes, please."

He lay with his head in her lap, listening to the story of Dorothea Brooke and her disastrous marriage. Rose affected the accent of whatever character she was reading. He liked that. It was almost like watching a performance. He tried to do the same thing when he read, but he never thought it sounded as good.

"Why is she marrying this guy?" he said. "He's all wrong for her."

"She doesn't seem to realize that."

"Someone should tell her."

"If they did," she said, "I doubt there would be much of a story."

"But everyone would be happier."

"But they wouldn't have learned anything," she pointed out. "They wouldn't really be happy."

"You think so?"

"How can you appreciate the good things if you don't have to live through some bad things?" she said matter-of-factly.

"Makes sense. But I'd still rather have a completely happy story sometimes," he replied. "No suffering, just good things. Just days like today."

Rose ruffled his hair affectionately. "Days like today, huh?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Rose kept reading. Occasionally the lights flickered. The storm seemed to gather in strength the longer it went on. It sounded like the little house was under siege. Jack was glad he wasn't sleeping outside. He shivered, remembering the times he tried sleeping in the rain. No matter what season he was always cold, and one way or another, his clothes ended up soaked. His skin would stay damp, and after a while he would chafe. He almost always ended up sick. But not now. Now he was tucked in a nice bed with a fresh cup of tea and Rose's warm body next to his.

He loved touching her. It didn't matter where or how little. Just his hand on hers was enough. She was the softest person he'd ever known. But she was also strong. If he left himself fall against her, she caught him. She held them both up. Since leaving home his life had been about finding adventure. He hadn't felt safe since the day he realized his parents were never coming back, and he was on his own. He'd come to like that feeling. Never knowing what might happen, if he would eat that day, if he would be hurt or even die, gave him a rush. It made him feel more alive. But it wasn't such a thrill anymore. Jack found himself _wanting_ to feel safe again. Rose caused it. Lying in her arms that first time changed everything. _That_ was the ultimate thrill. When he closed his eyes and felt her fingers in his hair and her heart beating in his ear, he didn't want to be anywhere else ever again.

"That's the guy she should've married," he said.

"I think you're right."

"She knows it too."

"He doesn't love her," Rose pointed out. "So it doesn't matter."

"He will."

"We still have a lot of pages to go," she said. "Anything can happen before the end."

"He'll marry her," Jack predicted.

"So confident," she teased. "Is this how you are when you play poker? No wonder you win."

"I don't always win. Just when it counts."

"Would you teach me how to play sometime?" she asked.

"Sure, if you like?"

"Really?" she said.

Jack nodded. "When we've got another day off, I'll show you how. It isn't hard," he said, yawning.

"Do you want to go to sleep?"

"Not yet. Would you read a little more?"

"Of course," she replied.

"I like this book," he said.

"So do I."

…..

They went out into a new world the next morning. Branches were everywhere, blown off the trees or broken by lightning. At some point, had had fallen. Several windows were broken. Singles had blown off the roof, and there was a small leak. But the ground was the worst. Rose's prediction came true; everything had been washed away. Each step was punctuated by a splash. Some puddles came up to their ankles.

"All the plants drowned," Rose said sadly. The few that remained were bruised and bent.

"We can plant more when the ground dries out some," Jack said optimistically.

They went to work on the branches first, clearing them away and cutting them into smaller pieces. At some point they would be used for firewood. The bark was rough on her hands, and by the saw was heavy, but Rose didn't stop trying. By the end she almost matched Jack's speed.

"Are we doing the roof next?" she asked.

"Probably should. But let's have lunch first."

"Do you think we have time?" she said. "There's so much that needs doing."

"If we drop from hunger it won't get done at all," he said.

"I thought you were worried about us getting enough done," she said.

"I never said I was worried."

"You've been acting worried," Rose said. "Getting up early to do extra chores."

"I just want to be sure they know we're doing everything we're supposed to," he said. "This is a great job. I'd hate to lose it over something small."

"But if something happened, and we lost it, we would be fine, right?"

"Rose—"

"We'd be fine, Jack," she said, looking into his eyes. "We would plant new flowers, somewhere else, right?"

"I guess we would," he agreed. "I don't want us to, though, not yet. I've done enough to damage our lives. The next move should be on our terms."

Rose wanted to reply, but she didn't know what to say. She didn't want to argue. She kissed him. "Let's have lunch."

…..

"You alright over there?" Jack called.

"I'm fine."

The sun had come out, stronger than before. The roof was dry, or at least, parts of it were. The patches of exposed wood were still damp and slick. They walked carefully, picking their way through the spaces that needed fixing. Jack watched her out of the corner of his eyes. Nailing down the shingles was easy; he didn't have to think about it. Lay down the single. Position a nail. Wham. Wham. Wham. Three good hits was all it took, and then on to the next nail. He liked the rhythm of it. This sort of work was his favorite. His mind cleared, and he was free to think.

Things would calm down in a few weeks. The big event would be over. They still didn't know the details, but from what they'd been told it sounded like a weekend party for a group of rich, demanding people. He was looking forward to the day it was over. He didn't mind or even really notice the guests most of the time. They looked through him; he was the help. He was probably lower than the help. He worked outside all day; he got dirty.

They didn't look at Rose either, usually. Some were curious or amused by the sight of a woman doing the same tasks as a man. Others found her general appearance odd. She didn't look like she belonged out there with him. But she did belong with him, he thought. She belonged outside, under the sun, where she could grow. Jack knew he'd made mistakes, but Rose forgave him. She loved him anyway. That made it easier to start forgiving himself.

He looked over at her. She was fine. Her side was nearly finished. Happily lost in thought, he didn't see the slick patch until it was too late.


	13. Chapter 13

Jack held his breath as he fell. There was nothing to grab onto, no way to stop himself. At the last second he tried to go limp, hoping to break the impact, but it didn't make a difference. He did manage to roll on to his side, with one arm under his head as his father always instructed.

He lay, face in the grass, unable to breathe. The air had been knocked from his lungs, and they seemed to have forgotten how to bring more in. He heard footsteps and yelling. One of the voices was Rose. He tried to move, but a strong hand held him down. "Don't move yet," a man said. He spoke kindly but with authority.

"Jack!" Rose burst through the circle that had formed around him. She dropped to her knees. "Oh," she breathed softly. She touched his face.

"I'm alright," Jack said weakly. He tried to move again, but the mysterious hand kept him down.

"Don't," Rose said. "You'll hurt yourself even more."

"I'm not that hurt," Jack insisted. He wiggled his toes. Everything seemed fine.

"I sent someone after a doctor," the man said to Rose. Jack tried but couldn't see his face. His voice was deep and cultured. He sounded like a person accustomed to taking control of a situation.

Rose nodded. "Thank you." She didn't notice his green eyes or well-chiseled jaw, but she did see the way he cleared the area, and she saw how he waited with her and how he helped carry Jack inside.

…

Jack didn't want to be in bed. He was bruised. His wrist was broken. A few ribs were cracked, but that was nothing. He'd lived through that before. There was no reason why he couldn't be up and about, as long as he was careful. But no-one listened to him. The doctor insisted he stay in bed, and Rose agreed.

"It's just for a few days," she said. "You don't want your ribs breaking completely, do you? They could pierce your lungs."

"Well, that's quite an image," he said, chuckling.

"It can happen, Jack, and you've been needing more rest anyway," she said.

"Will you stay in bed with me?" he asked hopefully.

"I'd love to, but I can't," Rose said. "I'm sorry. I have to finish the chores. As soon as I'm done, I'll come sit with you. I promise."

"Don't go back up on the roof by yourself. That can wait. I'll finish it when I'm able to," Jack said. "And don't get out the saw by yourself either."

"What can I do?"

"The garden," he said. "You like that, and it's safe."

"I'll do that first," she said.

When she left the house he was waiting. Rose was startled by him. "I just wanted to make sure everything is alright," he said, holding out his hand, as if for her to shake it.

"Yes, everything is as fine as it can be, Mr.—"

"Andrew Cunningham," he said.

Rose shook his hand. "Thank you for all your help, Mr. Cunningham. I can't tell you how grateful I am. I don't always fall to pieces like that. It all happened so quickly, I didn't know what to do."

"I understand completely, Miss—"

"Dawson, Mrs," she answered. "Or Rose."

"I should have known," Andrew said good-naturedly. "Of course he couldn't be your brother. The hair and the coloring are too different."

"Right," she said. Rose wasn't sure what to make of him. He seemed friendly; his concern, as far as she could tell, was genuine, and it was clear he had money. This man was obviously a guest at the hotel. Even if he hadn't helped Jack, it wouldn't do to offend him. She missed his good looks once again, as fear for their jobs took its place alongside her fear for Jack.

"I already spoke to the owner. He's a friend of mine, actually," Andrew said. "I explained what happened, and I've sent some men up to finish the roof."

"That wasn't necessary," Rose said. "I was on my way to finish it." She sounded ungrateful, though she didn't mean to. She softened her expression.

"Nonsense," he replied. "That's no job for a lady to do on her own. If at all," he added, under his breath.

Rose heard him. "I assure you, I'm up to the task."

"I didn't mean to insult you," Andrew said.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just upset. Thank you, again, for everything. I don't know how to repay you, but—"

He waved away her words. "There's no need."

"You must let us do something," she argued. "I wouldn't feel right if you didn't."

"I try never to make a lady uncomfortable," he said. "I'll think of something. Perhaps you can send me some of those lovely flowers the storm destroyed, once you get them growing again? I hear you're responsible for the gardens."

"Yes, I am. I don't think that's enough, but I'll be happy to send you flowers. It'll take a few weeks to get them growing again, I'm afraid."

"I'm willing to wait," Andrew said. He smiled. For the flowers. For her. Rose may not have noticed his handsomeness, but he saw her beauty from the start. Even as he was helping carry Jack home, he was aware of her. He heard the refinement in her voice and saw the grace in her movements. He wondered how she ended up here, married to this boy. This wasn't her world. She didn't belong here. Anyone could see that. "If I can be of any more assistance," he said, offering a card.

"Thank you," Rose said. She put it in her pocket without reading it. "I'm sure we won't need anything else. I can take care of things from here. If you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do."

Andrew watched her go. Her determination was remarkable. "Such an intriguing girl," he said to himself. He resolved to find out everything about her.

…..

Rose spent the rest of the day cleaning up the gardens. Nothing could be planted yet, but there was still plenty to do. The dead plants had to be cleared away, the rocks that sectioned off each part had to be put back in place, the bird feeders had to put cleaned off and set back up. She covered the worst of the puddles with dirt, hoping that would make them dry faster.

Rose worked quickly, pushing herself to get everything done. Fear drove her, fear for Jack and for the life they were trying to build. Telling Jack not to worry was easy; stopping herself from worrying was impossible. Rose wished he were next to her. She wished his arms were around her. He was so reassuring. What was she thinking, leaving him alone? What if he needed her? And after the way he'd taken care of her? "You're a terrible wife," she scolded herself.

Finally, everything was finished. She hurried back home. Jack, to her relief, was sleeping peacefully. She kissed him, lingering for a moment, before going to clean up.

…..

"Are you sure your head doesn't hurt?" Rose asked. She set a tray of food down on the bedside table. "You may have hit it, even if you don't realize it."

"My head's fine," Jack replied. "I'm fine."

"You aren't fine. You're hurt."

"I'm not _that _hurt," he argued.

"It's enough, Jack."

"I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. It coulda been a lot worse. I got lucky. I'm just glad I fell and not you."

"Don't say that. I'm not more valuable than you are."

"But I know how to fall," he pointed out. "I haven't taught you that yet," he added, grinning.

Rose tried not to smile. "Is that a skill I should be cultivating?"

"It's got uses," he said. "I really can teach you, if you want."

"Well, I'd like to not talk about falling or injuries for a while," she said. "I've done enough worrying for today."

Jack took her hand. "You don't hafta worry, Petal. I'll take care of you."

"We'll take care of each other," Rose corrected. "Now, please, eat something."

"Yes, miss."

"None of that," she warned. "Don't get any ideas."

"How can I not, lying in bed all day?" he joked. "All by myself," he added mournfully.

Rose's eyes dimmed. "I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't meant to rush off like that. There were so many things that needed to be done, and I was afraid if I didn't go, we'd—"

"I know," he said. "I thought about that too."

"I finished everything. There shouldn't be any problems."

"You went back on the roof?" Jack said, frowning. "Rose, you told me you wouldn't."

"I didn't. That man, the one who helped you, he hired some men to do it." She paused, not sure how he would react. It was a generous act, but now she saw its implications.

Jack's surprise was visible. "He did? Why?"

"I spoke to him on my way out," she said. "He told me he wanted to help. A woman shouldn't be going up there alone, he claimed."

"Neither should I, apparently." He grinned, but there was a slight edge in his tone.

"He also said he knows the owner. He spoke to him about what happened."

"So, we have a new friend, I guess," he said. "A rich, mysterious friend."

"I wouldn't say that. We needed help, and a nice person stepped in. That's all. It's the sort of thing you would have done."

"You think?"

Rose nodded. "I know you, Jack. You would've helped however you could."

"Yeah, I guess, I would've," he conceded.

"Do you mind if I get in bed with you?"

"You know I don't," he answered.

Rose settled in next to him, careful not to press against his injured ribs. "I wish I could hold you," she said, putting his uninjured hand between hers.

Jack kissed her cheek. "I could say the same thing."

"Do you want me to read?"

"I'd like that," he replied.

…

Jack couldn't sleep. It hurt when he breathed, and Rose was too far away. His relief at knowing their jobs were safe was overshadowed by what saved them. Rose's going out and finishing the chores probably helped, but he knew it was the word from this mysterious benefactor that made the real impact. He almost wished it hadn't. He would rather fight for their jobs himself. He was the one who should be making sure things turned out alright, not this other man.

Jack glanced over at Rose. He was grateful only for her sake. She had dealt with enough. This was supposed to be their new start, and here he was, hurt, failing her again. She didn't seem to see it that way, though, and he marveled at her ability to keep believing in him. Had anyone else ever believed in him this much? His parents, maybe, but they never talked about things like that. Now he wished they had.

Jack remembered the man's face. He was good-looking. Young, maybe a few years older than him. Rich, yes, that was clear. He remembered how he took control of the situation, how he reassured Rose. Jack was torn between gratitude and jealousy. He knew it was ridiculous. He had nothing to be jealous of.

But there were so many things he couldn't give her, so much he couldn't do. Life with him would be so hard, even at its best. The fear that she would get tired of struggling alongside him gnawed at him. Not all rich men were like Cal. Some could give her the freedom she needed. They could love her. They could appreciate her. They could take care of her. And as much as Jack hated it, he was sure this man, whoever he was, knew that as well.

….

It had been nearly two weeks since Ruth hired that man—as she thought of him—and he had finally called her with some news. She sat in his office impatiently. Didn't he know better than to make an appointment and then fail to appear on time? She was about to leave when he arrived.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mrs. Dewitt-Bukator," William said pleasantly. "Another case, you understand."

"No, I do not," Ruth said coolly. "But you're here now, so I will overlook the inconvenience."

"I have some results," he said, undaunted by her tone. "I'm not sure how happy you'll be with what I've found, but remember, it's only the beginning." He took a folder from his desk and placed it before her. "Basically," he went on. "I found their marriage license. There's a copy in there."

Ruth picked up the folder with trembling hands. So, they were married. She didn't know if that was good or bad. Did it mean he wouldn't leave her? Would it be better if he did? He might have wives all over the world. It would be better, she decided, if he left her. She could bring Rose home then. But he wouldn't. She knew it. She'd known it the first time she saw him. The way he looked at Rose made it obvious. She just hadn't wanted to admit it. Part of her really did want Rose to suffer for what she'd done. Ruth wanted her to see she couldn't just throw away opportunities.

"And I found the room they were staying in," William said. "The address is there too, but they've left. I also found out where they worked. He did some construction work, but there was some trouble. A strike, and he got arrested. Spent a night in jail."

Ruth's frown deepened. Of course he had. Maybe he wouldn't just abandon Rose, but with this sort of behavior, staying with her might be worse. "What else?" she asked.

"She worked in a law firm. She was a secretary."

Rose had a job? Ruth couldn't believe what she was hearing. No daughter of hers was ever supposed to go out and work. Was he not even man enough to keep her from that indignity? Rose probably fought for it, though. She would see it as an adventure, just like her talk about attending a university.

"Is that all?" she said.

"Well, no—" He hesitated. "I couldn't get a straight answer about this, but from what I did find out, I can tell you there was trouble, involving your daughter."

"What do you mean?" Ruth's tone was sharp with concern. "Was she hurt?"

"That's what I don't know exactly," William answered. "Something happened, but I couldn't get the details."

"Just tell me what you _do_ know," she demanded.

"Her boss, a fellow named Wheaton, he's the type that, uh, enjoys pursuing the girls who work for him. I don't know a more delicate way to put it. I got that from some of the other girls who work at the firm. He only hires young, pretty, single girls, and most of them don't last long." He paused. "The ones who do, ahem, are the ones who respond to his advances. It's all there in the file, if you'd rather not hear it."

Ruth's throat felt tight. "Just finish."

"They didn't know or didn't want to tell much more than that. Something happened, like I said before. Your daughter was seen running from the building. The next morning a guy came in, and uh, roughed up her boss, you could say."

"Jack." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Most likely. The description matches, and they left right after. I don't know where they went yet. Out of the city, it appears."

And where was Rose now? What else had happened to her? "Telephone me when you know where they are," she said.

….

Jack's ribs were nearly healed, but his wrist wasn't. He could get out of bed, but he couldn't do much. He couldn't even draw. That was as bad as not being able to hold Rose. He went around the grounds with her, trying to help with the chores. The weather had been nice, so he had that to be glad about, at least. No more storms were tearing the world apart.

The flowers were starting to bloom again. Rose's delight as they walked through them was infectious. "See, what'd I tell you?" he said. "They came back. They're even prettier now."

"I think you're right," she said. "They seem brighter, somehow."

"Despite his protests Rose still insisted he got to bed after dinner. "You need rest, Jack."

"Rose, I'm fine."

"Please," she said. Jack sighed. "I'd do it for you," she added.

"That's not fair." He kissed her. "Come with me?"

"After I get things cleaned up in here."

Rose could see the full moon through the kitchen window. She was seized by a wild urge to stand beneath it. Jack would understand. Jack would go with her. But she couldn't disturb him. So, she went alone, quietly slipping out of the house. The summer night was warm. The air smelled of honeysuckles. She had only gone a few steps when Andrew appeared. She jumped back. "What are you doing here?" she asked suspiciously.

"I was taking a walk," he answered. "Same as you are." He smiled good-naturedly. "Do you mind?"

"No. You're free to walk anywhere you like. You just surprised me. Guests don't usually come this far."

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Jack's fine. He's doing much better," Rose said. "Thank you." Her tone was polite, with only a little warmth.

"I'm glad to hear it, and I hear you've been getting everything done on your own. That's rather impressive."

"It isn't really," she said. "There haven't been any big tasks lately."

"But you don't strike me as the type of girl who would be doing this type of work."

Rose stiffened. "That's exactly who I am."

"I meant no offense," Andrew said apologetically. He was more intrigued than ever. So far, he'd learned almost nothing about her. No-one knew anything. This strange couple appeared one day, out of nowhere. Here, in the moonlight, she almost glowed. She was even more beautiful than before.

"I have to get back inside," she said. "Excuse me."

"Of course."

The party was the next weekend. Perhaps, he mused, another invitation should be sent out.


	14. Chapter 14

Jack eyed the Scrabble board with amusement. "Tryina keep me occupied?"

"Don't presume your boredom matters to me," Rose said haughtily. "I happen to enjoy this game."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. I'm rather good at it in fact." She handed him the bag of letter tiles. "Pick your letters."

"Is this what you did to pass the time with Cal?" He said it lightly, but once it was out he wondered why he said it at all. He wasn't jealous; he had never been jealous of Cal. It was more complex than that. If anything, he was curious about their relationship.

"No. I doubt he's ever played," she answered. "He certainly would never have spent an hour just playing a game with me, unless I took my clothes off at the end," she added sardonically.

"So, does that mean if I win—"

"No." She smiled slightly as she said it. "You still have some healing to do first."

"I'm alright," he said.

"Your wrist is broken," she reminded him.

"Yeah, but—"

"And your ribs are still sore. The bruises aren't even gone yet. They need more time." Rose's eyes softened. "You go first, Jack."

"Who did you play with?" he asked, putting down a word.

"My maid."

"You had your own maid?" Jack said. "Like, she just did things for you?"

"Yes."

"Wow. That's…"

"I know," Rose said. "It's completely absurd. Only children should need someone to help dress them every day." She put down a word. "Your turn."

"Breakfast," Jack said. "Double word score."

"You've never played before?" she asked.

"I'm a natural," he said with a grin.

"Clearly."

"I'm good at games," Jack said. "And I said I haven't played a lot, not that I've never played."

"Pancake. Triple word score."

"Rose, there was a person whose job it was to help put your clothes on?" Jack knew a little of how the upper class pantheon of servants worked, but this was a new concept.

"And take them off again. Did you actually find this interesting?" she said.

"Yeah. And it doesn't sound like a bad job," he said. "I'd do it for nothing."

"Jack, my love, you already do," she said jokingly. "You have to remember, though, I changed clothes at least four times a day."

"Is that supposed to be a drawback?" he said. "Cantaloupe. Eighteen more points for me."

"Do you think you could manage four times a day, every day?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"I'd certainly try," he said in a low voice.

A shiver moved down her back. She tried to hide it, but Jack saw it. He looked at her closely, his good hand nearly touching hers. She pretended not to notice. "Early. With the double letter score that's thirteen for me." Rose tossed her hair back, revealing her neck. She heard him sigh quietly. "Your turn," she said.

Jack studied his letters. Chuckling, he set down his next word. "Caress. I believe that's seventeen points."

"So it is," she said. "And I get twenty points for—" She laid down the tiles. "Thighs. Double letter and double word scores."

"Alright." Jack took more letters from the bag. "Bed," he said triumphantly. "Eight points."

"That was the best you could do, Jack?"

"You don't think that was a good word? It seemed to have an effect on you," he teased.

"We aren't going there," Rose said. "But since you asked for it. Breasts. Fifteen points." She leaned forward, chin in her hand. "Something wrong?"

"Not at all, Rose-Petal."

Her skin was hot. His eyes moved over her, and she felt his hands. Rose wished she had the same effect on him, not realizing she did. "Your turn," she said.

"Maybe this wasn't the best idea."

"Can't you handle it?" she said coyly. "Why, Jack, I thought you were worldly enough for a simple game of Scrabble, even one that's taken a bit of a turn."

"That's one way to put it," he said.

"Do you want to stop?" she asked.

"No." His voice was low again.

"Put down a word."

"Touch," he said. "Seven points."

"And I've got tremble. Twelve points."

"That's a good one," he said.

"I'm rather proud of it," she said.

"In the game?"

"Where else?" she said. "I don't know what other context you could be referring to." He brushed her hand with his fingertips. "Jack," she warned.

"What is it, Rose?" he said, feigning innocence.

"You know."

He stroked her hand. "I don't know."

Jack stood up as she did. Rose moved around the table, intending to pass him, but he stopped her. "Rose." It was a sigh, a plea. He cradled her face in his hand.

"It'll hurt you," she said.

"It won't." He kissed her. Instinctively, she put her arms around him. He pressed her against the wall.

"Jack, don't. You'll hurt yourself."

"I'm fine." He kissed her deeply. It took longer than usual, but he managed to unbutton her dress with one hand. He kissed her neck, sliding the dress off her shoulders. His knees buckled. He pressed himself even closer.

"Jack." Rose lifted his head. "Please."

"Do you want me, Rose?"

"That doesn't matter," she said.

"Of course it does," he replied. "Do you?"

"Yes. You know I do."

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked. "Honestly, tell me. I will."

Rose was still amazed that it took only a word from her to bring things to a halt, no matter how far they'd gotten. Were other men like this, or was she just lucky? No," she said. "I don't want you to stop." She closed her eyes as he kissed her. His hand caressed her, fumbling with the rest of her clothes.

"Do you need help?" she asked.

"I can do it." Jack grinned. "And three more times after this."

"I'll believe it when it happens."

They half-carried each other to the bed, kissing as they went. "If you're up to it," he said.

Her arms were around him, her legs; her nails pressed into his back. It hurt, but he liked it. Even the pain in his ribs felt good. The bruises would be worse now, but Jack didn't care.

…..

"Are you sure you're alright?" Rose asked.

"I'm fine. You don't have to keep asking, Petal."

Gingerly, she touched his bruises. "These look like they hurt."

He shrugged. "A little. It's worth it."

"You'll never get better at this rate," she said.

"Sure I will." Jack moved his fingertips down her cheek. "I feel better than I have in days."

"Because you rested like I told you too."

"No." He kissed her gently. "Not just that. This did as much good as a month in bed by myself."

"It couldn't have. Don't be silly, Jack. It's only—"

"Only what?" he said. "Making love?"

"Well, yes," she said.

"You don't think that's important?"

"Of course I do, but I can't possibly-I can't do so much for that…." Rose trailed off, not sure what she wanted to say.

Jack gave her a shocked look. "Have you thought that way this whole time? How? Rose, when we—I mean—You feel what I feel, right?"

"I think so. I can't describe it," she said. "It's—It isn't like anything else."

"No."

"Our bodies understand each other. _We _understand each other," she said.

"We do," he said. "I don't just want you, Rose. I need you. I miss you, after a while without—even though you're right here."

"It scares me a little, the way you make me feel," she said. "It's overwhelming."

"Why? I'd never hurt you," Jack said.

"I know you wouldn't. It isn't that. Jack, all you have to do is look at me, and I can't stand up. I'm drunk from wanting you."

"I know what you mean. It doesn't scare me, though."

"It doesn't?" Rose said. "Not ever? Not even when you're willing to hurt yourself?"

"No. Like I said, it's just as good as month in bed, maybe better," he said.

"It's too flattering to think I could be responsible for such a miracle."

Jack moved closer. "Be flattered," he whispered. He kissed her. "You've got three more times to get used to it."

….

The room was bathed in sunlight when Rose woke up. Jack lay next to her, his leg around her hip. In this light his injuries didn't look quite so bad. He was bruised, but they were beginning to fade. She kissed the corner of his mouth. He looked so peaceful; he smiled slightly.

The smell of pancakes woke Jack. Yawning, he wandered into the kitchen. "Well, hello," Rose said cheerfully. "Lunch is almost ready."

"Lunch?"

"It's after eleven. Breakfast doesn't sound appropriate," she explained. "But don't worry. It won't be a formal meal. Pants-only is an acceptable choice."

"You've got my shirt," he said, looping an arm around her.

"So I do."

"It looks better on you anyway," he said.

"Are you sure you mean on?" Rose teased.

"Now who's getting ideas?"

"I think I'm out of ideas for the moment," she said. "Jack, last night was…" She shook her head. "I don't know how to describe it."

"Perfect." Jack kissed her cheek. "You were perfect."

"You were rather impressive yourself."

"Good," he grinned.

"Couldn't you tell?" she said. "I didn't think I was expressing myself in a vague manner."

"You weren't. I just like hearing it," he said.

…..

The envelope was waiting in the mailbox next to the door. There was no stamp or post mark. Their names were written on the front in careful, elegant script. Rose turned it over, searching for a clue as to its origins. "What's that?" Jack asked.

"I don't know. It doesn't have a return address."

"Open it," he said.

Rose didn't want to. The smooth, heavy envelope and painstaking lettering reminded her of the invitations for her wedding to Cal. Could it be from him? No, that was ridiculous. He didn't know where they were, and he most likely didn't care. Their engagement was long since over; he had probably already moved on to another girl. He might even be preparing to marry _her_ now.

"It's an invitation," Rose said, surprised. The card was the same cream color as the envelope but on even better paper.

"An invitation to what? We don't know anyone here," he said.

"It's to the party at the hotel," she answered. "The one on Saturday." She turned it over, but there was nothing on the back. "Why would we get one?"

"It has to be a mistake. They wouldn't invite us."

"Do you think there's another Jack and Rose Dawson on the guest list?" she said. "That doesn't seem likely, but neither does our getting this. It can't be a gesture of thanks for all the work we've put into this thing."

"I'm sure it's not. You think it's really meant for us?"

"That's the only explanation that makes sense," Rose said. "Whoever delivered it brought it to our door. They must have known what they were doing."

"Unless it's a prank."

"Why would someone do that?" she asked.

"I don't know," Jack said, shrugging. "Maybe they think they can get us to go, and that'd be funny. Look, poor people!"

"Oh, Jack, you don't really think so, do you?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," he said. "That's half the reason Cal invited me to that dinner. He thought I'd show up looking poor and out of place, and it would be something funny to watch." There was a slight edge in his voice. "I was supposed to make a fool of myself."

"I wouldn't have laughed," she said. "And I didn't think you made a fool of yourself. You had everyone at that table in your hand."

"That's sweet, Petal, but you and Molly were the only ones who thought so."

Rose put the invitation back into its envelope. "Quite the mystery," she said. "Too bad it isn't bigger. The paper's nice. You could use it for a drawing."

….

"_I'll_ go up the ladder," Rose insisted. "You only have one good hand. You can't carry the lights and climb at the same time."

"Fine," Jack relented. "But be careful."

"It won't take a minute."

"I said be careful," he replied. "Not hurry."

The colored lights were heavy, not to mention expensive. They had already been warned about how delicate they were and what would happen if they were broken. The lights had to be hung just so in order to work correctly. Jack held the ladder steady, watching her as she worked. He scolded himself for being so careless. What made him think he didn't have to pay attention while he walked across the roof?

An hour later they were finished. "I can carry the ladder," Rose offered. She picked it up to emphasize her ability. "It isn't that heavy."

"Let me help," Jack said.

"I don't need help. Instead of arguing with me you should be proud be proud you have such a capable wife," she said. "Capable _and_ decorative," she added.

"I am. Rose, you don't have to overdo it though."

"Jack, I _want_ to do these things."

He opened the door to the shed, and she put the ladder back in its place. "I like the work we do," she went on. "It isn't glamorous, but I feel good about it, you know?" She held up her arm. "Feel that."

It wasn't much, but the muscles were starting to develop. "Impressive," he said.

"Maybe not to you, logger, fisherman, tramp steamer worker," she said. "But it is to me, former porcelain doll, potential mantle decoration wife."

"It is impressive," Jack said. He put his arm around her. 'What do you say we do out tomorrow?"

The party was tomorrow. Rose wondered if that had anything to do with his suggestion. "I'd like that," she answered. "What did you have in mind?"

They walked slowly, enjoying the cool evening. "I thought I'd take you to dinner," he said. "We could dance afterwards."

"Can you? With your wrist—"

"I'll manage," he said confidently.

They were heading toward the house when they met him. Andrew walked casually, his expression genial. "Well, I didn't expect to see you again," he said. He glanced at Jack briefly before turning his gaze back to Rose.

Rose moved closer to Jack. She didn't know why. This man wasn't a threat. "We were just having a walk before going inside," she said. "I'm sure you remember my husband, Jack."

"Of course."

"Jack, this is Andrew Cunningham, the gentleman who so kindly assisted us."

"Rose's told me about you," Jack said, holding out his hand. "Thanks for everything."

The two men looked at each other; they were roughly the same height; Jack's work clothes, with the sleeves rolled up, revealing tanned forearms, were a stark contrast to Andrew's immaculate summer suit. Their handshake was more of a battle for dominance than a greeting.

"It was my pleasure," Andrew said. "You're doing better?"

"Yes. A couple more weeks, and this wrist won't be a problem anymore," Jack said.

"Glad to hear it. Your wife was very worried about you," Andrew said.

"She doesn't have to be."

As their exchange went on, Rose felt like she wasn't even there anymore. They spoke only to each other; their eyes remained fixed on each other. It was almost like watching lovers meet, only in reverse. There was no affection here, no potential friendship, or even a pleasant acquaintance. Their interest was only in the other as a rival. Jack's jaw tightened, and she realized he was jealous.

"We should be going," Rose said.

"Don't let my keep you," Andrew said. "I'm sure you've had a long day. I saw you up there, setting up the lights for tomorrow. Very impressive."

"Thank you." Rose felt awkward accepting his praise.

"Bit dangerous though, is isn't it?" Andrew said. "Especially for a woman."

"I can climb a ladder as well as anyone else," she said. "Heights have never been a problem for me." They moved to go.

"Did you get my invitation?" Andrew asked.

"_Your_ invitation?" Jack said.

"Yes, to the party," Andrew replied. "It should have been delivered yesterday. I know it's last minute, but I'd like it if you could come."

"I'm sorry," Rose said. "We can't."

"That's too bad. Well. I won't keep you any longer," Andrew said. "Good evening." He shot one last glance at Jack as he left."

They were silent in the walk home. They barely spoke as they made dinner. Neither of them ate much. Their appetites had evaporated. Jack pushed food around with his fork. His shoulders were tense; he frowned. "Maybe we should go," he said.

"What?" Rose looked up, surprised.

"Maybe we should go to that party tomorrow."

"Jack, you can't be serious," she said. "Why would we do that?"

"Because we were invited," he said. "If we were invited, why not go?"

"Yesterday you were sure it was a prank," she reminded him. "And now you want to go?"

"We don't have to. I just thought it might be a good idea."

"Jack, you don't have to be jealous. I'm not—" she began.

"I'm not jealous," he said.

"Aren't you?" Rose said gently. "When we were talking to him, you—"

"I'm not jealous," he insisted. "I don't like him, that's all. There's something—I don't know what it is."

"And that's why you want us to go?"

"We don't have to. Pretend I didn't say anything about it," he said. "I'm sorry, Rose. I don't know what I was thinking."

That knowing look in Andrew's eyes, the look that said he not only could but would get Rose away from him, that Jack didn't deserve her, and they both knew it, hung over Jack for the rest of the night.


	15. Chapter 15

"We shouldn't go the party," Rose said. It was their third time discussing it. "It's not a good idea. I don't know what he was thinking, inviting us."

I know what he was thinking, Jack wanted to say. He kep0t that suspicion to himself, though. "Are you sure? We were invited; we have every right to go."

"Do you want to go?"

"It's more that I think we should," he said. "Not going makes it seem like we don't think we're good enough or something. I don't want that. And I don't want you thinking you can't have things like this in your life just because you're with me."

"Jack, that's not why I don't want to go. It's true, we won't fit in there. We don't have anything to wear, and people will notice, even with all of your charm. I don't care about that so much," she went on. "I don't want to go back into that world. I just got away from it. I've never thought you were trying to keep me from anything."

"We don't hafta go then," Jack said. "We've got nothing to prove."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, Rose," he said, reaching for her hand. He pulled her close. She hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. He knew it was crazy, but he couldn't stop thinking about Andrew. The way he looked at Rose. The familiar way he spoke to her, as if they were old friends, and he, Jack, was an unwelcome intruder. That invitation was no mere friendly gesture. Jack was sure of it. He just wasn't sure what to do about it.

…..

Jack tried to hide it, but his mood slipped further and further down as the day went on. Briefly, he thought about reviving his plan of taking her out for the evening, but nothing came of it. Staying home felt safer. He knew it was crazy, and he knew he was only a few steps away from Cal's attitude, but he couldn't help it.

They couldn't hear the guests arriving or the sounds of the party as it began. Their house was too far away, but they knew it was happening. Rose took a book from the stack and sat down next to him. "Shall we?" she said, hoping this would finally bring a smile from him.

"We shall," Jack answered, putting an arm around her. Rose leaned against him and began to read. The festivities didn't matter to her. It was probably as dull as the parties she used to go to. Not knowing anyone would only make things worse, and she couldn't stand the thought of all those people staring and whispering. If it was a friendly gesture, and she wasn't entirely convinced it was, then it was a misguided one.

Rose yawned. The book was nearing its end. It seemed senseless not to finish it. They could start on something new in the morning. There were still two unread books in the stack. Soon it would be time to return this set and find new books. "Want me to read for a while?" Jack asked.

"I can finish it." She yawned on the last word.

"You sure? You sound tired."

Rose glanced at the clock. "It's not late. We shouldn't go to bed yet. We'll get up too early if we go to sleep now."

"We can read in bed," he said. "C'mon, Honey-Rose, you'll feel better. This is starting to hurt my next. It has to be bothering yours too."

Rose lay with her head against him; his arm draped over her. Her eyes grew heavier as she read. The words lulled her into a drowsy state. Her body was tired; she had to admit that, if only to herself. She felt Jack move. He stretched, yawning. "The end," Rose said, closing the book.

"I liked it."

"It was pretty good, wasn't it?" she said. She let her eyes close. Her body relaxed, ready for sleep, but her mind was as alert as ever.

…..

Andrew scanned the crowd, hoping to see her, but she wasn't there. He held his breath every time he caught a flash of red, but it was never her. He kept his eye on the door so he would know as soon as she arrived. The party was a great success. His partners, their wives, friends, the new investors he was trying to bring into the fold, all were there, drinking, dancing, and generally having a fine time. Except for him. Rose's absence marred what should have been a triumphant evening. Andrew didn't know why he cared so much. This went beyond mere curiosity or even casual desire. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"You've outdone yourself Cunningham," said a voice at his elbow. Andrew turned and found himself facing Cal, who stood, drink in hand, watching the revels. "It's a shame we have to be out in this Godfosaken place," Cal went on. "But I think this deal will work out."

"I think so too." Andrew kept his eyes on the door.

"Who are you looking for? Everyone's already here. Unless, you didn't invite someone without telling me?"

"I did, actually," Andrew replied.

"Who?"

"A woman. A couple, really. I had to invite them both, though it's her I'm interested in," Andrew said. "She's…intriguing."

"I'm sure she is," Cal said knowingly. "But it doesn't look like she's coming. She must not find you as intriguing."

"I'm beginning to think you're right. I was sure this would interest her. She seems so…"

"So what?"

"Refined," Andrew said, for lack of a better word. "She seems like she belongs at parties like this, not patching the roof and digging in the garden."

"Good Lord, where did you find her?" Cal laughed.

"Here," Andrew replied. "She's the caretaker's wife. He injured himself recently, and I happened along. If you could have seen her—I can't figure out how she ended up here, married to that boy. They don't fit at all."

Cal thought of Rose but then dismissed it. "I wouldn't waste my time with this if I were you," he said. "She's probably not worth it."

"You grieve rather oddly," Andrew said. "Losing your fiancée seems to have made you even more cynical."

"It was quite a loss," Cal said stonily. He had grieved, publicly, in all the appropriate ways. He grieved privately as well, which surprised him. It was more for the idea of Rose—his idealized version of her—than anything else, though he told himself otherwise, convinced he had every right to his unhappiness. Now, it was finally time for him to move on, and he was more than ready to do so.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," Andrew said. "I'm sure it's been difficult."

"Yes, it has, but we must go on," Cal said. "I just never realized this place is where I'd be going on to."

"It isn't so bad," Andrew said. "And we'll only be here a few weeks, just until the deal closes. The property is here. The investors need to see it. You know that."

"This better go as well as you promised," Cal said.

…..

It was already oppressively hot, and the sun was barely up. By noon it would be scorching. Jack would have to sure and drink enough water. He picked the wildflowers, carefully selecting the perfect bunch. They grew in the woods behind the house, and he considered them his—or theirs, rather. He arranged them in a tall glass with water and set it on the table next to Rose's side of the bed. She slept on, holding his pillow. She murmured something, her words too low for him to make out. "Go on and sleep," he said, kissing her cheek. "It's alright."

Jack had to squint against the glare of the sun. There wasn't much to do, but he didn't want to do it. The day was too hot, too bright. It would have been better to put everything off until the evening, when it was cooler, but he knew that wasn't acceptable. The gardens needed water to survive in the miserable heat. He didn't mind that part so much. It was their job to care for them, but he saw it more as something he did for Rose.

The remains of the party had to be cleaned up. The indoor staff had already removed any dishes and glasses that were left outside, along with the dropped napkins and table cloths, the forgotten purses and flasks. It was his job to put the tables away, take down the lights, and generally make sure the terrace and lawn were perfect again. No-one else was stirring yet. Jack went to work, intending to be finished by lunch. His injured wrist cried out in protest, but he ignored it. He'd never get anything done with only one hand. Rose would be angry he didn't wake her; there would be a lecture about taking better care of himself. Jack smiled to himself. He didn't mind the lectures. She was wrong. He could handle this just fine. But he didn't mind them.

Sweat ran down his back by the time he finished putting away the last table. He filled a bucket with water and doused himself with it. He was filling it a second time when he saw Andrew approaching. Jack ignored him and continued his cool-down. There wasn't any reason for him to be near the shed, and it was too hot for a casual stroll.

"Good morning," Andrew said pleasantly. Jack just nodded. He shook the water from his hair, not caring of he was soaked. The sun was already drying him anyway. "Already hard at work I see," Andrew added.

"Yeah." Jack stood as if about to leave. He would have to walk past Andrew to get back to where he needed to be, and Andrew showed no sign of moving. Jack considered just going on, but he knew he shouldn't offend this man, if only because he'd helped Rose.

"Rose isn't helping you today?" It was said casually, but Jack detected disappointment in Andrew's voice.

"It's too hot for her," Jack said.

Andrew eyes him with new interest. "Yes, I suppose it is. She doesn't seem like the sort of girl who can handle rough surroundings."

"She's not as delicate as she looks," Jack said. "She'd be offended if she heard you say that."

"I didn't mean it as an insult."

"I know you didn't," Jack said. "It would be to her, though. That's not who she is."

"I hope you don't mind my saying she seems like a rather extraordinary girl," Andrew said.

"Woman," Jack corrected. "And she is. More than you know."

"I'm sorry you two didn't come to the party. I hoped you would." He meant Rose, and Jack knew it.

"We couldn't make it," Jack said. "Thanks for inviting us." He picked up the ladder, swallowing the pain in his wrist. "I've gotta get back to work now."

"Of course. Right," Andrew said, stepping aside. He watched him go, more curious than ever. This marriage was a mystery still, though he was becoming convinced it was a youthful mistake of Rose's more than anything else. He glanced toward the house. Perhaps, he told himself, another walk in the evening was necessary. Who knew who he might run into.

….

Rose stood over the bathtub, arms crossed. "Why didn't you wake me up?" she asked.

Jack kept washing. "You were asleep."

"Yes, that's why you should have woken me up."

"But you looked so pretty," he said. "And it was too hot out anyway. I barely made it."

Concern replaced irritation in her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine now," Jack said. "I just got a little too hot. Everything's done. Gardens are watered; party's cleaned up."

"You didn't take down those lights by yourself, did you? Jack, you know you aren't supposed to strain your wrist. You aren't supposed to use it at _all_," Rose said. "It can't heal if you do."

"It's fine," he insisted. "It hurt a little at first, but I've felt worse. It worked. I got everything done." He held up his hand and moved his wrist. "See? It's fine, Rose." Moving it hurt, but he wouldn't let her see that. It was more important now than ever that she see him as strong and capable.

"You don't have to prove anything, Jack."

"I'm not trying to," he said. "I just wanted to get everything done. We won't have to work so hard for a few days. Maybe we can go dancing like we talked about the other night."

"I'd like that," Rose said. "That sounds fun."

"Then we'll go tomorrow night," Jack promised.

…

Jack leaned against the house. The sun was on the other side now; it was still hot, but it was a pleasant heat. It didn't choke him. He could feel autumn coming now. It came more slowly in this part of the country.

He moved his wrist tentatively. Pain shot up his arm. Rose was write. He would have to rest it, no matter how much he didn't want to. Maybe an hour or two with ice on it would help. The cast was thin; it could hardly be called a cast; it was more like a bandage. He remembered the doctor saying something about coming back to put a sturdier cast on it, but Jack hadn't bothered to call him. If he just didn't push it too much, it would be fine.

"There you are," Rose said.

He smiled over at her. "Hey, Rose-Petal."

"What are you doing?"

"Just looking around," he said. "It's nice out here now that it's cooled down."

"I love being surrounded by trees," she said. "All of this green, it's so beautiful, and the flowers are incredible. I can't believe they just grow on their own, so many kinds and colors, with no help from us."

"Yeah, it's pretty amazing," he agreed. "We've got a nice spot here."

It was hard to remember it wasn't really theirs. They both fell into that trap at times. The house was so far away from the hotel, and the woods made it feel so isolated. Sometimes Rose pretended they were living on land they'd bought, out in the wilderness. It was just the two of them, creating this magical world all their own. She didn't want to be completely cut off from the world, but sometimes she needed to feel as if the world couldn't touch them. So much had happened it was only natural to want a safe place to retreat to. She thought of Jack was that place, but lately she'd been wondering if that wasn't putting too much pressure on him.

"Did I think you for the flowers?" she asked.

"You don't have to."

"Of course I do," Rose said. "You did something nice for me. I'm not going to let it go unacknowledged."

"That would be rude," he joked.

"Yes, it would be." She ran her fingers through his hair. "Thank you, Jack. They're lovely. It was a wonderful thing to wake up to."

"I figured I wake up to a flower every day," he said. "So it's only fair you get to wake up to a bunch of 'em."

"Were you going to draw?"

Jack looked down at his sketchbook. "Maybe," he said. "I hadn't decided yet. There's not much to draw out here, you know?"

Rose made a sweeping motion with her hand. "What do you call this? Are these stories of nature not good enough?"

He laughed. "I've never done many landscapes."

"I was going for a walk," she said. "But if you'd rather not draw that majestic tree over there, I could wait."

"No, you go on. I'll draw you later," he said. "I should give landscapes another try. Why waste all this? It's good enough for Monet. _I'm _ not that good, but—"

"If you aren't that's only because you haven't gotten there yet," she said. "You will, one day."

"I'm not sure I believe that, but thanks for saying it."

Rose kissed the top of his head. His hair smelled clean. "I'll keep saying it until you believe it."

Jack felt better, despite the pain in his arm. He didn't mind Rose going off by herself. The grounds were safe. His burst of jealousy had subsided, and mostly he just felt foolish now. So Andrew was rich and handsome and nice. What did any of that matter? Andrew might want Rose. The invitation was just a ploy to get close to her. So what? Rose didn't want him; that's what mattered. Jack hadn't doubted her. He wasn't afraid she would go running into Andrew's arms. She was happy.

What he did worry about, however, was her not being happy later on. Their life was good now. It was better than he could have hoped for. Jack gently placed the towel of ice on his wrist. But what about when he did something stupid and hurt himself again? Or let her be hurt? What would happen if he failed her? It wasn't about giving her diamonds; it was about being the kind of man she needed, being the man she deserved. Andrew worried Jack because he knew he could be that man. If he was as generous and caring as he seemed, with all that money, he could be everything Rose needed.

She thought their work was fun, and at times it was, but Jack knew how quickly things could change. Andrew could offer security. With him there would be no worrying about what they'd do if they lose their jobs. She wouldn't have to tiptoe around, making sure not to offend anyone, lest they ruin her life with a word. Who wouldn't prefer that?

….

Rose picked flowers from the edge of the woods and braided them into a crown. She wore her hair loose. When Andrew saw her he was enchanted by the figure she presented. "May I approach, O Lady of the Forest?" he asked.

Rose looked at him, half-puzzled, half-surprised. "What? Oh," she said, touching the crown. "I was being silly. I like flowers."

"I can see that."

"That I'm silly?" She took the crown off.

"No," he said. "That you like flowers. There's nothing wrong with it. I like them too." His tone was friendly, his smile open. He wasn't forward; he didn't flirt. She tried to see why Jack didn't like him. She wasn't overly fond of him, but he was a nice man. It wouldn't hurt to have friends. Seeing him here, out in the light, her misgivings were gone. He wasn't interested in her, not like that at least. He probably had a girl somewhere, maybe even a wife. If he was anything like the men she'd known before, he had more than one.

"You must enjoy walks as well," she said. "It seems like you're always out here."

"It's good exercise," he said. "And this is a beautiful place. The gardens are extraordinary. You've really done a wonderful job on them. You should be proud."

"Thank you." It was more praise, but why should it make her uncomfortable? Rose loved the gardens, and she worked hard to make them nice. So did Jack. Didn't they deserve a little praise every now and again? "I'm glad you like them. We enjoy taking care of them."

"That's obvious," he said. "You can really see the love that goes into them."

"This isn't quite what I expected to be doing, but I've had worse jobs," Rose said. "Actually, this one is rather fun, at times."

"When no-one's getting hurt."

"When no-one's getting hurt," she agreed. "Which is most of the time. What happened to Jack was completely unexpected."

"You say you've had worse jobs, but I find it hard to believe you've had any other jobs," Andrew said.

"What makes you say that?"

"You don't seem like a girl who's had many jobs, or any, rather; you seem too refined for that. Too much of a lady." Rose watched his face as he said it. She wasn't sure what to think. Was it an observation or his idea of a compliment? Either way, she didn't like it. "I should be getting back," she said. "Good evening."

…..

There was little to do the next day, after the gardens were watered, but Rose saw no need to stay inside. "It's a glorious day," she said. "We should be out in it."

"Doing what?" Jack asked.

"I don't know. We should probably work a little more," she said. "They pay us so much, the least we can do is put in a few more hours this week."

"We could make sure the paths are still in good shape," he suggested. "I checked them a couple days ago, but it can't hurt to check again."

The paths ran through the woods around the hotel for several miles. It usually took all afternoon to look them over. "If we split up we'll be finished sooner," Rose said. Seeing Jack's expression she added, "I said we should give them a few more hours, not spend the rest of the day on a task that most likely doesn't need doing."

"I see."

"And you promised to take me dancing tonight," she said. "We wouldn't want to be too tired for that."

Jack shook his head. "No, Miss," he said, with a grin.

She kissed him. "I'll meet you at the middle entrance in an hour or so?"

"Alright."

Rose set off, rake in hand. The gravel did need smoothing in places, so it wasn't a complete waste of time. The trees offered a cool shade, and she found herself enjoying the walk. She thought about the evening to come. Dancing with Jack. Wearing her new dress. Walking home under the stars. She smiled, picturing Jack, handsome in his good shirt, his arm around her. "Come Josephine," she sang softly.

Rose didn't take notice of the footsteps behind her until she heard the voice. _His_ voice.

**AN: I leave you with a cliffhanger! Don't worry. There will be an update in a few weeks. Tons of them. **


	16. Chapter 16

Cal wasn't alone. Rose turned and found herself looking at Andrew, who stood with Cal at the head of a small group of well-dressed men. They were listening attentively as he spoke. Cal nodded along, taking his turn to be silent and wearing a genial expression. That expression frightened Rose more than anything else. She'd seen it before, often without thinking much of it, but now she knew exactly what it hid. She stepped aside as they approached. She kept a firm grip on the rake, ready to raise it if necessary. It was crazy; Cal wouldn't lunge for her in front of witnesses, especially not business associates, but it was her instinctive response.

There was a chance Cal wouldn't have noticed her, but Andrew stopped to greet her. "Well, hello again," he said in a friendly tone. Rose didn't look at Cal. "Hello," she said politely. She felt Cal's eyes land on her and lifted her chin defiantly.

"How rude of me," Andrew said. "Gentlemen, this is Mrs. Dawson, a new acquaintance of mine. This is Mr. Williams, Breen, and Lott, and of course, Mr. Hockley." They each nodded to her. Cal's smile was clearly amused; he turned his head so only she could see it.

"Good day to you all," Rose said. "If you'll please excuse me." She gave Andrew a nod and turned to go past them, back the way she came. They must have taken a different fork, she realized; that was why she hadn't encountered them sooner. She looked straight ahead as she went, thinking only of finding Jack and getting out of there.

….

It was clear from his face he'd seen them too. Jack's tone was grim when he asked, "Are you alright?"

Rose nodded. "I'm fine. It was odd, seeing him like that. Unsettling. But he didn't say anything."

"He didn't see me," Jack said, taking her hand. Sheepishly, he added, "I hid in the trees."

"Did you?"

"I don't know why," he said. "I'm not afraid of him. I just—I didn't want to be near him, you know? I didn't want a scene."

"I understand. I was nervous too. The way he stood there, staring at me, I was sure he'd say something. He doesn't make scenes in public, though, and he would never dream of doing anything untoward in front of his business associates, but—" Rose shrugged. "I couldn't help it."

Jack's suspicions about Andrew deepened. "So, those were his business associates? I couldn't hear 'em from where I was."

"That's the way Andrew introduced them." She waited for Jack's reaction to show, but he kept his feelings hidden. She knew—or she suspected, rather—what he was thinking. "It's not something we need to worry about," she went on. "They won't be here long. He hates the country. Besides, I doubt he cares about us anymore. Why should he?" Rose heard herself and thought she sounded nervous; her words seemed to be come too quickly. She was relieved when Jack said, "You're right."

She looked at him curiously. She hadn't expected him to give in quite so easily. "I am?"

"We've moved on. He has also. It's been months. There's no reason to think he still cares about what happened," he said. "He didn't bother us on the _Carpathia_ or in New York, and we were pretty easy to find, so why would he bother us now? Especially when it could threaten his chance to make even more money?" The last part was said scornfully.

"Yes, exactly," Rose agreed. "Losing a fiancée is an inconvenience, but losing a business deal is a severe blow."

Jack kissed her hair. "Let's go get cleaned up. I believe I promised you dancing tonight."

…..

Jack smelled wonderful, even better than usual. His hair fell over his eyes, clean and soft. His good blue shirt made his eyes look even bluer. Rose couldn't help but stare at him; it was like seeing him for the first time.

"What's wrong?" he asked, glancing down at himself. "Did I miss a button or some—"

"No." Rose shook her head. Her voice was low. "You're perfect."

Jack grinned. "Nobody's perfect, but you come pretty close." She shook her head and smiled in response. He took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. He smelled perfume on her wrist; it was light and pleasant, Rose-like. He lingered a moment. "Guess we should go," he said.

"We should."

The first crispness of autumn was in the air as they headed into town. "About time," Jack said. "I didn't think the summer would ever end."

Rose swung their clasped hands together, breaking into a skip. "But it's been such a nice summer, don't you think?"

"Being with you's been nice."

"It was our first summer together," Rose said. "And now it'll be our first autumn, and then winter, and summer all over again. Jack, we've been together nearly six months. That's almost half a year."

"Doesn't seem like that long does it?"

"No," she said. "But it also feels longer. I can't remember my life before—Well, I can," she corrected herself. "But it doesn't feel real. It's like a dream. When I saw Cal today what shocked me the most was just _seeing _him. He was real to me again."

"I know what you mean," Jack said. "I couldn't believe it was him at first. I thought it had to be someone else. I'd put him so far outta my mind I didn't think he could ever come back." He looked over at her. "You're not worried, are you?"

"About Cal? No. Are you?"

"Not really," he said. "Like we said, what can he do?"

"He's probably already found a new wife. I'm sure the mourning period is nearly over."

It occurred to Jack that wounded pride along with seeing them doing well might reignite Cal's interest in them. It was a thought he chose to dismiss. Why invite trouble? If they pretended he wasn't there, eventually he would go away.

….

Rose scanned the menu, reading the prices first. "Don't worry about money," Jack said. "We're fine. You know how much we've got saved. Get whatever you want."

"It feels rather indulgent," Rose said.

"We had this conversation last time," he said good-naturedly.

"I know you're right, but I don't want to spend our money needlessly. We don't know what might happen."

"That's true," he agreed. "But I don't think one meal will make much different. True me. Things aren't that bad."

"Things are going well for us, aren't they?" She smiled.

Jack smiled back. "Yeah, they are. We're doing better than I hoped."

"What did you hope?" she asked.

"It didn't include being able to save this much money," he said. "We got lucky. And not paying rent helps. I haven't lived in a place this big since I left home."

"I'd like to see that place," she said.

"Maybe we'll go there, someday."

"Only if you want to," she said.

"It'd be nice, in a few years, if we have kids. Maybe." Jack met her eyes. They hadn't discussed children since that first morning in New York. They had been taking precautions, but at times he worried it wasn't enough. He didn't want children yet either; they were in agreement on that. They needed time together, alone. They weren't ready for that kind of change, and he was glad they both saw it. But what if it happened anyway, despite their best efforts? Would Rose blame him? Maybe. He was the experienced one; he assured her everything would be fine. He feared she'd leave him if it happened too soon, but more than that, he was afraid she'd stay; he was afraid she would turn bitter and angry, staying with him only out of necessity.

"They should see where you grew up," Rose said. "I want us to show them everything. I don't want them seeing the world from behind glass the way I did."

"They won't," Jack said. He took her hand. "We gotta go see where you grew up too."

"Why would you want to see that?"

"Because I'm curious," he replied. "I love you. I want to know everything I can about you, Rose-Petal."

"You've seen enough of my world," she said. "I can save us a trip. I grew up in a large, beautiful house full of things I wasn't allowed to touch and surrounded by people who were only there for money. I rarely saw either of my parents, and I almost never went outside. I didn't do anything unattended. There was a six foot wall around the house, with an iron gate keeping the rabble out. And keeping us in."

"Well, we can stand at the gate and peek in," he joked. "There's probably some artistic value there."

"It was nice to look at," Rose conceded. "Although the art my parents collected was rather lackluster."

"How so?"

"They only bought safe pieces, paintings and sculptures from long established artists," she explained. "Things critics praised and that they knew would increase in value. Art was an investment to them. They never bought something because it moved them; they didn't love any of it. Value, safe, those are words that should never be used to describe art," she added.

"You don't think art's safe?" Jack said curiously.

Rose shook her head. "Real art is about exposing truths, about yourself and the world. You have to be honest, and you have to be brace. You have to _see_. Almost anyone can draw a nice picture, with a little instruction. I took drawing classes. I can make nice sketches and paint flowers on teacups, but I can't make art. I can't draw the hands of the peasants," she said.

"Like van Gogh?"

"Yes, exactly, but perhaps without the suicide," she said. "If I can choose."

"I can't do that," he said.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I can't do that kind of work," he said. "It's beyond me. I draw pretty pictures. That's it. I don't expose anything, least of all myself. I _never_ draw myself. I'm not in any of them."

"Jack, you're in _all_ of them," Rose said. She stared at him, stunned. How could he be so critical of himself? And how, she wondered, could he be so wrong? Didn't he see what she saw when she looked at his work? "You draw the truth," she went on. "You tell the truth about the people in the drawings and yourself. What you think, the way you feel, it's there, in every line. You don't just tell stories with your drawings, and you don't make them up either. Maybe you fill in details at times, but you don't _lie_. You bring out what's already there."

"It always amazes me to hear you talk like that," Jack said. "You're the only one who ever takes me drawings seriously and acts like they matter, like they aren't just a hobby or a way to make extra money."

"Jack, I wouldn't care if your drawings never made a dime," she replied. "They wouldn't be worth any less. Money doesn't make art. When you drew me, it was unlike any other image of me that's ever existed,"

"It certainly wasn't a picture of you looking like a porcelain doll."

"Not at all," Rose agreed. "I looked like _me_ in that drawing. I looked like the woman I could be, the woman I wanted to be. It might sound crazy, but that drawing helped me realize what would happen. I couldn't say how I felt. I was afraid, even if I didn't look it. When I saw myself the way you saw me, I knew I could do it. Not only did I want to stay with you, but I could. I wasn't afraid anymore. I wasn't afraid of how much I wanted you either," she said.

Jack was silent for a moment, taking in her words. "One drawing did all that?" he said.

"_Your_ drawing did all that, Jack."

…..

They danced until the hall closed. After the crowded room, the night felt especially chilly. Rose shivered, wishing she had brought a wrap of some kind. Her summer dress was thin with short sleeves. Jack put his arm around her. He had no jacket to offer. "We'll get home quick," he said reassuringly. They hurried through the dark streets, huddled together.

The bedroom window had been left open, and the house was no warmer inside. Jack lit the stove and placed a chair next to it. "Sit down, Rose," he said. "It's warm over here."

"It's not that cold," Rose said, holding her hands up to the first. "But I feel like it is."

"That's what matters," he said, pulling a chair up next to hers. "It's gonna be winter soon. The summer went on too long, and it's gonna be a bad one."

"How can you be sure?"

"Experience," he answered. "Indian summer seems nice while it's happening, but it means a long, cold winter's on the way. Winters were always long and cold back home, even the mild ones. The bad ones were unbelievable. The whole word froze. The snow came up to your waist."

"That sounds terrible," she said, shivering at the thought.

"It could be," Jack said. "A few times we ran out of wood and had to burn bundles of hay. We sat around the stove, wrapped in quilts, doing our best to keep warm. The worst part was there wasn't anything to _do_. I couldn't draw with gloves on. Going outside wasn't an option."

"So, you just sat there?"

"We talked. We told stories," he said. "Sometimes we sang." He chuckled. "But that gets old, you know? You get tired and stiff from sitting there. Your body hurts."

"That night on the ship was the coldest I've ever been," Rose said. "Every room in our house was always flooded with heat. I had my own fire in my bedroom. There was a warmer for the bed, if I wanted it."

"We had those. Yours probably wasn't a brick wrapped in flannel, though," he said jovially.

"No, it was made of brass. I probably didn't need it."

"Why would you say that?" he asked.

"It bothers me," Rose answered slowly. "I had so much. I had more than I could ever need, and you had so little. It isn't fair."

Jack leaned forward. He put his hands on her knees. "You don't hafta feel bad about that," he said. "You never took anything from me, Rose. I'm glad you had that nice warm room to go to. I wouldn't want you to have less."

"It just seems like if I had a little less, you could have had a little more, doesn't it?" she said.

"Maybe," Jack said. "I understand what you're saying, and it'd be nice if it were possible. I don't know if it is. You shouldn't worry about it. Those days are over."

Rose smiled into his eyes. "You're right. Things are great now."

….

The glow from the candles was just enough light to draw by. Rose slept, oblivious to the fact that she was his subject. Jack worked slowly, trying to capture every detail. The sheet covered most of her, but he could still see the curves of her body, her hips, the hint of her breast. He sat at the end of the bed, sketchbook on his knees. Was she right? Was this _real_ art, or was it just another pretty picture?

Jack looked closely at what he had so far. Her features on the paper matched her real ones. Her expression was peaceful. At first he couldn't see any differences between the Real Rose and the Drawing Rose, but gradually the differences came into focus. They were small. He hadn't changed the way she looked. Her expression, he realized, was slightly different. In life she looked peaceful; she slept deeply, clearly undisturbed by dreams, but in the drawing she was dreaming. Jack wasn't sure how, but he knew she was. Her mouth curled up, hinting at a smile. She might be preparing to smile cheerfully, or she might be flirting with the viewer, refusing to give more.

It was him, Jack realized. He'd drawn her dreaming about him. The smile _was_ flirtatious. Her body was slightly different also. In the drawing she seemed to be waiting for someone; she was ready to move and welcome them into the bed, into her arms. Him, of course. Why hadn't he noticed it before? He was drawing her in the moments before they made love, even though she was sleeping.

Jack tried to remember the details of the first drawing. Her face, he'd gotten her fear, but he'd drawn confidence in her eyes. She looked strong but touchable. Maybe, he reflected, because he'd wanted so badly to touch her. Rose was wright. He did put himself into his drawings.

…

"Did you draw this last night?" Rose asked. She sipped her morning juice as she studied the drawing. Jack placed an omelet on her plate. "Yeah," he said. "I couldn't sleep."

"Was something wrong?"

"No," he said. "I just wasn't tired, I guess."

"I'll have to try harder next time," she said playfully. "I would have thought the four hours of dancing was enough to exhaust anyone. I can't even remember falling asleep."

"We should go dancing more."

"We should," she agreed.

…..

"With winter on the way we need to start thinking about what'll need to be done to keep the place in shape," Jack aid. They walked across the grounds, hand in hand. For once their clothes were clean, and they carried no tools. Jack had a notebook and pencil. So far, they hadn't made any progress on their chore list. The day was too lovely to think about work. The leaves were beginning to change; the flowers were still in bloom, and the sun shone brightly. They looked more like guests than employees.

"Painting?" Rose suggested. "I noticed a few places that need some touching up."

"We'll put that on the list." Jack made no move to write it down. He was certain he'd remember, and why let go of Rose's hand? "We can paint the house too," he added. "If you want."

"Do you think anyone would mind?"

"I already checked. It's fine as long as we use leftover paint," he said. "We're probably leaving in the spring, but—"

"We are?" Rose said. "Definitely?" Her tone was hopeful.

"As long as you still want to."

"I love it here," she said. "But yes, I still want to travel."

"We—" Jack's barely formed sentence dangled as he found himself looking at Cal, who was moving toward them, an amused smirk on his face. They could turn and go the other way; there was still a few seconds before he reached them. Jack felt Rose tense. He moved closer to her but didn't turn. She glanced at him; their eyes met, and they silently agreed to face him. It needed to be done and on their terms this time.

Cal's gaze flicked from Jack to Rose. "If it isn't my favorite couple," he said mockingly. "I must say you're looking better than I expected."

"That's hardly a compliment," Rose said coldly.

"Oh, it wasn't intended as one." His dark eyes were hard. They moved across her again, taking in every detail of her appearance, her slight tan, the sprinkling of freckles on her nose, her sensible summer dress and loose curls. She was beautiful, even like this, but it was a lower beauty. Her loveliness was common. Once she'd been a diamond and now she was a rose quartz, at best.

Rose knew what he was thinking. Disdain mixed with desire in his eyes. If they were alone, and if she were willing—or possibly, even if she wasn't—he'd still reach for her. Jack saw it too. "C'mon, Rose," he said. "We're wasting time."

"You wouldn't want to lose this job," Cal said. "It would be a shame to run away again, like you did in New York."

How did he know? They both wondered it. What, exactly, did he know? The threat in his tone was unmistakable. They walked away, keeping a leisurely pace. They didn't speak. Neither wanted to acknowledge the possibility that Cal wasn't finished coming after them.

**AN: It feels like forever since I updated this one! I hope you all enjoy it! ****Also, I'm thinking of doing a story about Ruth. She fascinates me, and the movie gives her so little backstory. It's unfortunate. Would anyone be interested in that? Jack and Rose would come into it eventually, but it would really be about her. **


	17. Chapter 17

It had been hours since the encounter with Cal, and Jack hadn't said a word. He set his mouth in a thin line, took Rose by the hand, and went home. The door was locked, something they only bothered to do occasionally; the curtains were closed. Rose busied herself with chores that didn't need doing, while Jack sat at the table, a pencil between his fingers, staring hard at something only he could see. Virginia chirped inquisitively, tilting her head toward Rose, who answered with a soft whistle. She put her hand in the cage, and the little bird stepped onto her fingers.

Rose gently stroked her feathers. She wasn't supposed to take the bird out of her cage, but everything was closed up, and she didn't like seeing her trapped in there all the time. "Do you want to fly?" Rose asked. Virginia chirped and bit her hand affectionately.

Rose put her food bowl on the bookcase and nudged her onto the shelf. She left the cage door open so Virginia could go back inside. She always flew back in, eventually. She didn't seem to mind being caged. Maye, Rose mused, she felt safer that way. _Not me,_ she thought.

…..

"What are you thinking?"

Rose's voice startled him. Jack blinked a few times, unsure of where he was. "What time is it?" he asked."

"It's after nine," she said, sliding a mug toward him. "What are you thinking?"

Jack closed his heads around the hot mug; the scent of fresh tea wafted toward him. His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn't eaten since breakfast. As if she heard it, Rose put a plate with a sandwich in front of him. "Thanks," he said gratefully.

"Eat and then tell me," she said.

After two sandwiches and half a pot of tea, Jack finally said, "I'm not afraid of him."

"Do you think we ought to be?"

"No. He wants us to be, but I'm not," he said. "He's not gonna do anything. I've gone over it and tied to see things the way he does, and there's nothing to gain by hurting us."

"Except a twisted pleasure," Rose pointed out.

"Yeah, I thought about that," Jack replied. "I'm not sure that's enough. What he did today was like pinching us. He probably thought it was funny, but it's nothing really, you know? He wanted to make us worry."

"Don't underestimate what he's capable of, Jack. I did, and I wish I hadn't."

"He had an opportunity then," he said. "If I hadn't kept wearing that coat, none of it woulda happened. It was a stupid mistake."

"Of if I'd fought for you instead of standing there, gaping, completely useless."

"Don't say that, Rose."

"It's true," she argued.

"No, the second they found someone else's name in the coat, that was it," Jack said. "Nothing you said could've helped me. That was something even he couldn'tve planned. I did that to myself."

"I still should have fought harder," Rose said.

Jack laid a hand over hers. "You came to get me, Rose. That's what matters. I would've died without you."

"I put you in that situation."

"_He_ put me in that situation. He knew you were leaving with me, so he tried to get rid of me. A lot happened that night, even before the iceberg. When we went back to your cabin, that was the first time we stood still long enough for it all to hit us," he said.

"It was my idea to go back."

"And I agreed to it," he reminded her. "You needed to face him, and so did I. I don't know what I was gonna say, but—" Jack shrugged. "Don't feel bad Honey-Rose. Please." Virginia flew into the kitchen and settled on Rose's shoulder. Jack grinned. "I'll hafta start calling you Bird Girl," he said.

"I don't know why she does that," Rose said.

"I do."

….

Jack was cheerful the next morning. He didn't object when Rose opened the curtains, though he did lock the door behind them. Rose didn't comment on it. She slipped her hand into his.

"Let's stay together today," he suggested.

"Alright."

They gathered tools and set out for the garden. The chill in the air was more pronounced than on the previous day. Fewer people were out strolling. The flowers were just beginning to wilt. Rose touched a petal sadly. "They'll be back next summer," Jack said kindly. "They always come back."

"I know," she said. "But we won't be here."

"We'll be somewhere better."

"My parents traveled a lot," she said., getting down on her knees. The dirty was dry and soft. She reached out and began pulling weeds. "They never took me along."

"Mine didn't go anywhere."

"My father often left for business," she said. "Or so he claimed. I don't think he was entirely truthful."

"My dad never looked at another woman. He always told me he saw my mother, and that was it. Guess I'm a lot like him," Jack said. "Course, there weren't that many women where we lived," he added jokingly.

"My parents weren't in love," Rose said, keeping her eyes down.

"You told me," he said. "That's just sad."

"It was a good match. That matters more than love. Only for a few people does love alone play a part in marriage," she said thoughtfully. "Starry-eyed romantics like us."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Rose said. "It's worked out so far."

"My father was a romantic. I get that from him too, I guess. He was always doing little things for my mother, bringing her flowers and such. I thought that's just how you treat the woman you love," Jack said. "It surprised me when I found out not everyone does that."

"Cal did things for me. He even ordered my food without asking what I wanted."

"How perceptive of him," he said.

"He was generally wrong," she replied. "For instance, I don't like lamb."

"I'll remember that. Or I'll just ask."

She grinned. "Please do."

"It's a shame you can't meet them," he said.

Rose watched his face. This was the most he'd talked about his parents since her illness back in New York, all those months ago. He didn't look upset; rather, he seemed calm, peaceful even. She wanted him to go on but didn't pressure him. "They woulda liked you," he added. He said this before, but he always stopped there. "I know my mother would've liked you. You're the kind of girl she wanted me to marry."

"A runaway society girl?" Rose joked.

Jack's eyes were serious. "No, a lady."

"Is that how you think of me, Jack?"

"That's part of it," he said. "Rose, it doesn't matter what you do. You can't escape that side of yourself. I wouldn't want you to." Seeing her expression, he added. "It's not about being delicate or needing me to be the strong man taking care of you. It's how you do things—you—you make everything pretty and—I can't explain it," he sighed.

"You don't have to," she said. "It's the same way I wouldn't want you to change."

They pulled weeds in silence until she said, "Tell me more about them?" She glanced at him. "Please?"

Jack stared hard at the weed in his hand. "They were your age when they met. They got married two years late. My father didn't have enough money at first. He saved until he could buy some land, and he took her to live on it."

"That's rather young."

"Same as us, isn't it?" he said.

"That's true, I suppose. I don't think of our ages, really," Rose said. "I _am_ just 17," she added with a laugh. "It feels so much older, and you, you're 20, and already you've lived three lives."

'Two and a half," he said cheerfully.

"Jack, if you don't want to talk about this—"

"No, I want to," he said. "I told you everything without any details before. I'd like you to know more about what it was like. What they were like. Memories are all I have now. They'll fade if I don't take care of 'em."

Rose put her hand on his. Both were dirty, but his was larger and brown from the sun. Telling them apart would never be a problem.

…

It probably wasn't the best way to trim the hedges, but they did it anyway. They stood next to each other and each trimmed a piece as they went. They could have started at opposite ends and been finished much faster, but the incident kept them together. It was silly; after all, what could he do? But the urge was strong. Neither had forgotten Cal preferred deviousness to direct violence when given the choice.

"Neither of my parents drew," Jack said. "No-one in my family did."

"Where did it come from?"

"I dunno," he said. "I always wanted to draw. There wasn't much paper around, but I covered every bit I could find with drawings. After a while my father started bringing me paper when he came back from town. They thought I was good," he explained. "And they let me do it, but they never thought it'd be anything."

"They didn't want you to be an artist?" Rose said. _Snip_. She placed the clipped bit of hedge in the bag they carried.

"It's more like they didn't think of artists as real people," Jack said. _Snip. Snip. _In went more bits of the hedge. "My father was pretty straightforward. He wanted me to get married and take over from him," he said. "My mother wanted me to make money, to get out and be part of the world."

"Neither of those sound like you."

"The seeing the world part I liked," he said. "I didn't care about money. We never had any, and I was happy. She wasn't, though." His face clouded.

"Jack—"

"It's alright," he said. "It just wasn't the life she wanted. She thought he'd change, but he didn't. He thought she'd be happy. If they got married, she thought he'd eventually want the same things she did. Her parents wanted her outta the house too. I don't know the whole story, just that it wasn't good. My father loved her and took her away from whatever was happening."

_Snip. Snip. Snip. _"Thank you for telling me," Rose said.

He offered her a smile. "Thanks for asking."

"I was a dull child, you know," she said.

"I can't believe that."

"Oh, I was," she said. "Perfectly well-behaved. Quiet. Immaculate at all times. I was like a large doll my mother brought out and showed off to her friends during tea. I didn't mind it. I liked their attention. Those women were so beautiful, Jack. I wanted to be like them. My mother sat among them like a queen. She was so proud of me then."

"What changed?" Jack asked.

_Snip. Snip_. "I grew up," Rose said. "I wasn't the girl she wanted me to be anymore. I tried to be. Outwardly everything was the same. If my father hadn't died, things would have been different. Perhaps not better, but there wouldn't have been such a need for me to get married…at least, not to Cal."

Jack's nose wrinkled. "He was too old for you." Rose laughed. "I mean it," he said. "I thought he shoulda been with your mother." She laughed harder. "Really," he said. "He ignored you at dinner. They got along great."

"He ignored me a lot."

_Snip_. "I couldn't," he said.

_Snip. Snip_. "Tell me more?" Rose asked.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Tell me about the first girl you kissed," she said.

He grinned. "Oh, well she had red hair, and—"

"Jack, be serious," she said.

"Alright," he said. "She was a year ahead of me in school but a year younger than me. I didn't always get to go. She had these two long braids I always wanted to touch. I liked the way she laughed. We walked home the same way, and I carried her books."

"How gentlemanly of you."

"I try," he said.

"Well, go on," she prompted. "What happened?"

"I was thirteen," he said. "I started holding her hand when we walked, as long as we were alone. One day it started raining, one of those summer storms that comes outta nowhere. We ran under a tree, which is the worst thing you can do, but we weren't thinking about that. She was afraid of the thunder, and we were just worried about staying dry." _Snip. Snip_. "I put my arm around her and…I kissed her." He smiled at the memory.

"That sounds sweet," Rose said.

"It was. What about you?"

"What about me?" she said.

"What was your first kiss like?" he asked.

"It wasn't like that at all. It was with Cal."

"Oh." Jack said quietly.

"It wasn't so terrible." _Snip. Snip. Snip. _"It happened when he asked me to marry him," she explained. "It was, skilled, you might say."

"Skilled?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

"He knew what he was doing. I was obviously not the first girl he'd kissed," Rose said. "He liked the difference between us, his experience to my utter lack of it. I'd prefer not to count him. When I kissed you, it was like finally understanding why he wanted to touch me." _Snip. Snip. _"Tell me something else?"

"Sure," Jack said.

…..

Rose slept next to him. Jack never woke up in the morning or the middle of the night to find her gone, every trace taken with her. She didn't untangle herself from his arms and disappear into the night after they made love. She stayed. She let him hold her; she held him back. Jack knew the first time, but it was only a dim understanding that grew as time went on. If they hadn't had to get up, they wouldn't have. That was what made her so different. They didn't have to say it; they just knew. They had to hold each other, if only to acknowledge what happened between them. Without that, the whole thing would have felt empty.

There was the girl in Belgium. Annelise. Jack kissed her until his lips were numb. She smelled like berries and sugar, and they barely understood one another's words, but it didn't matter. She took some of his drawings and left while he was asleep. He wanted to find her again but never did. She could've had all the drawings, if she'd asked. Maybe she did, and he just didn't understand the question. He hoped she still had them.

There was Colette in France. She spoke enough English they could carry on a conversation with Jack only having to occasionally resort to his halting French. He went through France twice. He met Colette the first time. Stranded with no money, he was sleeping wherever he could and doing any job he was offered, usually in exchange for food. He drew on discarded paper, the blank pages from old books, anything he could find and smooth out. Colette danced with him every night for a month. When he pulled her close he couldn't breathe.

She was always gone before the morning. Jack tried to get her to leave with him, but she wouldn't. She laughed and called him, "Garçon chéri" _darling boy_, and took him up to her room again.

There were others, not many more. It was always the same. Jack wanted to love them; they didn't want to be loved. They couldn't or wouldn't love him back. When he tried to hold them, they moved away. Rose only moved closer. Curling into his body, tangling her legs with his, their hair spilling across the pillow together, red and golden. Petals and the sun.

…

He didn't have to stay much longer. Cal kept reminding himself that. St. Joseph was hopelessly provincial. No-one worth knowing lived there. It wasn't even a good vacation spot. Why Andrew loved it was beyond him, though Andrew had always loved out of the way placed like this. At least things were going well, and he'd make some money from this trip. The chance to get back at Jack and Rose, even just a little, was an unexpected treat. His threat was mostly idle; he didn't care what happened to them anymore. Without the stress of the ship sinking around him, and his anger and humiliation cooled, what did it matter? But he saw no reason to let them know that. If he wanted to, he could easily make their lives miserable; they should remember that.

"Are you ready for the dinner tomorrow night?" Andrew asked. "It should be interesting."

"I just want it to go smoothly," Cal replied.

"Naturally. I know how much you hate being here," Andrew said. "But it's good you are. They had to speak to both of us."

"I still don't see why we can't do this back home."

"The properties are here," Andrew reminded him. "They're still not quite enthusiastic about out proposal as it is."

"I can't see why not. Do they have something against making money?" Cal said.

"Not everyone is as comfortable throwing around a few million as you are," Andrew said amiably. Cal half-smiled. "I'm thinking of inviting someone else to the dinner," Andrew added.

"Do you mean that girl?" Cal feigned ignorance.

"Yes, actually."

"You're quite taken with her, aren't you?" Cal said.

"I wouldn't put it that way. I—"

"She's married," Cal pointed out.

"I'm well aware of that," Andrew said. 'Even if that relationship baffles me. You met her. Don't you think she could be more?"

"Oh, I don't know," Cal said casually.

"You don't see it?"

"She seems rather ordinary to me," Cal said, shrugging. "Pretty, yes, but nothing special." The look in his eyes was impossible to read. Andrew assumed he was thinking of his lost fiancée. He never met her. What was her name. Lily? Violet? Something to do with a flower. That was a bit of a coincidence, but lots of girls had names like that.

"Invite her," Cal said. He smiled, amused by the thought of another dinner with the two of them. This time would be very different.

…

Andrew was looking for Rose, but he found Jack instead. "Hello," he said, all pleasantness in the face of Jack's silence. Jack nodded. He carried a shovel, and for a moment Andrew was nervous. This man was barely more than a boy; he was smaller than Andrew, but there was strength in the way he stood. He seemed to tower over him. "I see your wife isn't with you," Andrew said.

"No," Jack replied.

"It is getting late." It was an awkward statement. Jack regarded him with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. Why did this man insist on seeking them out? It was Rose he wanted; Jack knew that. It wasn't hard to guess why. It was the pursuit of her he objected to, not the wanting.

"Well, I just wanted to ask Ro—uh, your wife—" Saying her name was impossible with Jack looking at him so intently. "If the two of you would like to attend a dinner tomorrow. Nothing terribly formal, just something for my associates. We could use more women," Andrew explained quickly. "It's an uneven bunch."

Jack's expression didn't change. Without a word, he stepped past him and kept going.


	18. Chapter 18

Most people generally agreed Andrew was a patient man. Considerate. Easy-going. He was the opposite of Cal, really. He didn't use intimidation to get his way. It never occurred to him to try and scare Jack into speaking to him. But Jack's utter dismissal-his _contempt_ for him was simply too much to overlook. What could he do about it? Jack didn't seem like the type to respond to threats, even passive ones, favorably, and Andrew doubted that was the way to get to Rose. Nom what he needed to do was show her Jack wasn't good enough for her. She was meant for better things; she came from better things. Why didn't she see that? Jack knew. He didn't let it show, but Andrew was certain he knew. It explained the hostility. He was holding on to Rose however he could. But not for much longer.

…..

Rose found Jack at the edge of the woods, digging up large rocks. "What are you doing?" she asked. His face was blank, his eyes focused on the ground below. "Jack?" She touched his shoulder, and he jumped. She drew back.

"Sorry," he said. "Rose, I didn't know you were there."

"It's alright." Concern tinged her voice. "Jack, what's wrong? I know there's something bothering you."

"I saw him again."

"Cal?" she said.

Jack shook his head. "No. Andrew."

"Is that the problem?" she asked.

"Sort of. I don't know. I'm-" He shook his head again.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. That's the problem," he said. "He hasn't done anything for me to be upset about. Except want you."

"How can you be so sure?" she said, even as she suspected he was right.

"He won't leave you alone. He's invited you to dinner tomorrow," Jack said. "He said both of us, but he meant you."

"That's absurd. He knows we're married."

"Rose, I don't think we cares," he said. "He wants you. I understand that. Who wouldn't? I knew you were engaged, and I still wanted you. I told you how I felt."

"But Jack, you never asked me to leave for you," she reminded him. "You asked me to do it for myself. If I had left Cal and that life, but only as your friend, you still would have let me come with you."

"I guess you're right," he said. "I hoped you'd want me back, but I wanted you to leave more than anything else. I wanted you to be alright."

"It doesn't matter what he does," Rose said. "I love you. It's too late to turn back now. You're too twisted up in me." She put a hand on her chest. "Here. I thought you knew that, Jack."

"I do know it. I'm not jealous."

"Then what is it?" she said.

"I hate the way he thinks he can keep coming after you, like our marriage doesn't matter," Jack said. "I'm not good enough, and this isn't real. And with Cal here, I just…."

"Just what?"

"I feel powerless," he said reluctantly. "After New York and getting hurt, and now this, it just feels like I can't do anything. I can't protect you. I can't be your husband and have people respect it."

"Other people don't matter," Rose said. "This is about the two of us. I don't care what anyone thinks. I came with you. I married you. Isn't that enough to prove I want to be here?"

What was wrong with him? They both wondered it. Jack never had a shortage of confidence. When the ship was flooding, he didn't panic. "We'll have to find another way," was all he said. And they did. He kept Rose hopeful in the boat; he kept her hopeful during their first days in New York, showing her how to survive. He let her fall on him when things were at their worst and never faltered. He was more than strong enough to handle this situation. Couldn't he see that?

"You think this man will make me regret my choice, don't you?" Rose said. "You think I'll see there are rich men who aren't like Cal and wish I'd tried to find one of those instead of throwing everything away with you." Jack looked at his feet. He wanted to answer but couldn't. Her words were too close to his fears. It was ridiculous. He knew it was. Rose didn't want anyone else. So why was this bothering him so much? It was more than the fear of losing her or thinking he didn't deserve her. He could deal with that; he _had _dealt with that.

It was more about feeling he didn't deserve _any_ of it, Rose, his happiness, his life. Why had he survived? What made him worthy and so many others not? That guilt mingled with his guilt over letting Rose be hurt, over letting himself be hurt, making everything look so much worse. He didn't know how to explain it in a way that made sense. His feelings crowded around him until he couldn't breathe. Jack pulled Rose to him, hugging her tightly. Holding her helped. It was the only thing that seemed to help.

….

"Let's go to that dinner," Rose said.

"What?"

"Maybe if we do, and you see I don't want that life, you'll stop worrying," she said. She put a hand on his face. "Jack, I don't know everything you're feeling, but I know how much you're suffering. I see it in your eyes. I want that to stop. I want _my_ Jack again."

Jack kissed her hand. "I want that too."

….

Rose sat in front of the mirror, brush in hand. Was this really the right thing to do? She dreaded going back into that world. Just the thought of it tied her stomach in knots. Cal would be there, watching them, laughing, and taking every opportunity to hurt them. Rose told herself Jack could feel better if he faced him again. He had to show he was good enough._ But I already think so._

"Can I do it?"

She smiled at their reflections. "Sure."

Jack brushed her hair slowly, taking care not to pull it. Rose closed her eyes, letting her mind empty. In that moment it was just the two of them. "Do you want it up?" he asked. She nodded. He swept her hair off her neck, and with a few quick movements had it neatly pinned. He placed a kiss on her neck. Rose turned to catch his lips. "Thank you," she whispered.

….

They rarely went inside the hotel, and when they did they never ventured into the guest areas. The private dining room was spacious; the large windows made it feel even bigger. A crystal chandelier hung above the table. It was set for a formal dinner. The plates were inlaid with gold. _At least,_ Jack thought, _I know which fork to use._

__"You came after all," Andrew said. Surprise mixed with pleasure in his voice. He glanced at Jack before letting his eyes return to Rose. Her dress was a rich, sky blue. There were no frills, just a simple, pretty design. For the first time he noticed her ring. "What an interesting ring," he said. "I've never seen one like it."

Rose held up her hand. The "J" inscription was clearly visible; the silver shone from a fresh polishing. "Jack made one for each of us," she explained.

"Really? Extraordinary."

Jack couldn't help thinking of Cal. He didn't see him yet. This time he didn't have borrowed clothes to blend in with; his wine red shirt and black pants, a combination he'd liked before, now felt too dramatic. They were wearing each other's colors, red for her hair, her fire, and blue for his eyes and for the tranquility that covered his passions.

The next few minutes were a blur of introductions and polite small talk. Jack barely heard any of it, but he noticed all the looks they received. Rose blended in more, or so he thought. The truth was, beneath her calm mask she was struggling to maintain her nerves. She wished they hadn't come. What was she thinking? This wouldn't prove anything; this was just torturing themselves needlessly. She glanced at Jack, trying to catching his eyes. _We can leave_, she said silently. _I'm sorry. I love you. Let's go._

Rose saw him first. She took Jack's hand and straightened her back. Jack moved closer to her as Cal approached. He regarded them with amusement. "Cal, you've met Rose, remember?" Andrew said.

"Of course," Cal said. "Who could forget a woman like her?"

"This is her husband, Jack," Andrew said.

Cal nodded. "Jack."

Jack hated the way Cal said his name. He'd never hated anything so much.

"We should be sitting down," Cal said. 'Dinner is about to be served."

"Rose, you're over here," Andrew said. She looked over at Jack, hoping he would keep her by his side, just as he hoped she'd stay. Neither did anything because they were waiting for the other to move first, and Rose was swept off to another part of the table. Her chair was next to Andrew's, while Jack found himself next to Cal.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath. He couldn't hear them, but he could see them. Rose smiled politely, but she was uncomfortable. Andrew addressed everyone around them, but his attention was mainly reserved for Rose.

"Keep staring like that, and he'll think it's him you're in love with," Cal said quietly. Jack pretended not to hear. A low chuckle followed. "What were you thinking bringing her hear? You must _want_ to lose her. Is that it?" Cal said. "Is she too much for you?"

"No, but she was for you," Jack said sharply.

"Don't think for one second I wouldn't still have her if that ship hadn't sunk."

"You never had her," Jack said. "She woulda run away from you sooner or later. Her spirit was already on its way. Her body woulda followed even without me."

"I would've stopped that," Cal said.

Jack's glare was devastating. "Even if she leaves me, I won't care as long as she's far away from you."

"So noble," Cal said drily. "Tell me, Dawson, are you really that willing to let her go?" Jack didn't respond. Cal chuckled again. "I didn't think so."

Meanwhile, Andrew couldn't believe his good fortune. He hadn't expected them to come; he was surprised Rose even knew about the invitation after Jack's chilly response. Clearly, he'd thought better of it. Why deny her this chance to socialize with quality people? With people like her? And these were her people; there was no doubt about that from Andrew's perspective. He saw how well she fit in. This was where she belonged.

"I'm glad you came," he said.

"Thank you," Rose said. She tried not to encourage him, but that didn't seem to matter. He took her politeness and silence for a demure shyness. It never occurred to him she simply didn't want his attention. Like Cal, he saw only what he wanted to see when he looked at her. Jack wasn't like that. Rose turned toward him. He was frowning at his untouched plate; conversation swirled around him, and Cal looked positively overjoyed.

Rose pushed back her chair, seized by the urge to take Jack's hand and leave right then. Before she could move Andrew said, "How did you two meet?"

"What?"

"You and Jack," he said. "How did you meet?"

The urge to go was still upon her, but she remembered the power this man had. With one word he could destroy their little world. So, she took a breath and said, "We met while traveling."

"I hope you don't mind my saying you two don't seem like you'd be together."

"Why would you say that?" she asked.

"I meant no offense," he said. 'But you're obviously a lady. It's hard to imagine a less appropriate setting for you."

Rose tried to keep her tone even. "Pardon me for saying so, but that's a rather presumptuous judgement to make. You hardly know me."

"But see, that right there is what tells me," Andrew said. "You speak like a lady. Not like your husband."

Anger welled up inside her. "That isn't for you to say."

"It was only an observation. I'm sorry if I upset you," he said. He sounded sincere. Doubt crept into Rose's suspicions. "I like you, Rose," he went on. "I can't say I'm not intrigued by you."

They appeared to be deep in conversation. Andrew was turned toward her, everyone else forgotten for the moment, and Rose was looking at him with an expression Jack couldn't read. Emotions struggled across her face.

"They certainly seem to be getting along," Cal remarked. Jack ignored him. "I'm not surprised. Andrew's always been rather weak. He's perfect for her, actually. Not that you weren't, but you can't really do much for her, can you?" Cal smirked. "The little you can do, I'm sure he'll manage."

Jack clenched his jaw against the words threatening to fly out. Making a scene wouldn't help anything. They would lose their jobs, and Cal would enjoy it. He wouldn't be any better than Cal if that happened. He'd be screaming, throwing punches, accomplishing nothing, and Rose would see it all. He looked toward her, finally catching her eye. She seemed to be pleading with him, but he didn't know for what. Their connection was too weak, overcome by their battling feelings.

Andrew touched her hand, and Jack's curled into a fist. "Careful," Cal whispered. "You can't hit everyone and walk away. Unless you want to keep running. You'll find Andrew a more formidable opponent than the one you faced in New York."

Jack wanted to ask how he knew, but instead he hissed, "Shut up."

Cal laughed, earning a look from Rose. What was he saying? She'd never seen Jack look that way. _Please, Jack, ignore him. Follow me out of here._ She was getting up when Andrew touched her arm, stopping her again. Dinner was over; people on either side of them were getting up. She'd hoped to slip out, unnoticed. "Leaving already?" he said.

"Yes. I'm afraid I have to be going," Rose said. She kept her gaze on Jack. He was looking at Cal. Her heart beat faster. Something was happening. Cal looked too pleased with himself, and Jack-"Thank you for inviting us," she said. "I really must go." Before he could reply she hurried around the table and over to Jack. His hand was cold when she took it. He jerked his head, startled by her sudden appearance. "Rose."

"Let's go," she said.

"Leaving so soon?" Cal said. "That's a shame. We were having such a nice conversation."

"I'm sure you were," Rose said coldly. "Come on, Jack."

"You do whatever she says, don't you?" Cal mocked. "She can't be that—"

Jack's fist came up before he could finish. Rose stopped him. "No," she said. She looked into his eyes. "Don't, Jack, please. It isn't worth it."

"You're right," Jack said after a long pause. He squeezed her hand. "Let's go."

The night air was like a balm. Jack breathed in deep gulps, enjoying the way the cold stung in his chest.

"I'm sorry," Rose said. "Going there was a mistake. A stupid mistake, and I should have known. I don't know what I was thinking."

'You didn't enjoy it?"

She looked at him in surprise. "No."

"Not even a little?" Jack asked.

"No. Why would you think that?"

'There were times when you seemed happy," he said.

"I was getting through it," Rose said. "Being polite. I'm very good at hiding my feelings, you know. I thought _you_ could tell the difference."

Her words pushed him down even further. "I'm sorry, Rose," he said. "Being next to him like that, the things he said, I don't know anything anymore except how badly I want to hit him, and the other one—" The look in Jack's eyes wasn't like any she'd ever seen. "When he touched you, I….You don't wanna know."

"You don't have any reason to be jealous, Jack. I'm not going anywhere. I don't want anyone else. That's what tonight was about, remember? Proving it to you," she said.

"I know I sound crazy," Jack said. "I can't help it. I keep thinking I don't deserve you, not after everything that's happened. I don't know if I even deserve to be alive."

"You think you should have died on the ship?" Rose couldn't believe her ears. "Jack, that isn't true!"

"How can we know that?" he asked. "Did any of the others deserve to die? Would Cal have deserved it, bastard that he is? Why-Why am I alive? And I have _you_." His hand trembled; tears filled his eyes. "I always survive Rose, but should I?"

Rose hugged him tightly, laying his head on her shoulder. His tears soaked into her dress. His arms were like iron around her. "You can't think that way," she said. "Jack, you deserve to be alive, and you deserve to be happy." She kissed his hair. "I don't know why the others died. I don't know why we lived, or why we got to keep one another, but we did, and I'm grateful. I love you." She kissed his head. Holding his face in her hands, she kissed the tears from his eyes. "Jack, I love you. Don't be afraid. We have to much more living to do."

…..

Jack sat on the front steps, a forgotten cigarette between his fingers. Cold fell around him. In a strange way, he liked it. The cold made everything clearer; his mind was sharper. Rose would be out soon, asking if he was coming to bed. He would hold her, feeling every breath like it was his own. In the morning, things would be different.

He saw Andrew approach in the distance. Jack stood up, putting the cigarette out with his shoe. He stepped into the moonlight, hands in his pockets, his pose causal. "Yeah?" he said.

"I just came to-"

"I know why you came," Jack said.

Andrew sized him up. "Really?"

"I've known for a while. You don't really hide it well. Maybe you don't want to."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Andrew said.

"I wanted to like you at first," Jack said. "Because you helped Rose. I'm still glad you did."

"I sense a but."

"You're a smart guy," Jack said. "Don't act like you're not. You see a woman like Rose, you look again. You see her with me, and you start wondering why."

"I _am_ curious," Andrew admitted.

"Sometimes I am too," Jack said. "Fact is, she's my wife, and if she wants to leave she can. I won't stop her. She knows that."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're gonna leave her alone," Jack said, a hint of threat in his voice.

"And if I don't? If I want her? If I think she should have more?" Andrew challenged.

"Stay away from my wife. I won't tell you again," Jack said. "Not with words. I know the risks. We'd lose a lot, but we'll make it. We can survive anything together." And he knew it was true.


	19. Chapter 19

Rose kissed Jack's cheek. "Come have breakfast," she whispered. She knew he was awake despite his closed eyes. "I made your favorite."

"Cinnamon toast?"

"Yes," she said.

"With tea and eggs?"

"All of that," she said.

"Hot bacon?"

"It will be cold bacon if you don't get up," she warned. Jack didn't move. She ripped the blankets off him. "I'm getting up," he groaned. "You didn't hafta do that."

"Unfortunately, my Darling-Jack, I did." She kissed him again. "There's such a thing as too much sleep."

In the days following the disastrous dinner they had gotten back into their usual routine. Jack was cheerful, and when there was no sign of Andrew, his spirits rose even further. At last it seemed his point had been taken, and they were being left in peace. His guilt hadn't gone away, though. It crept back during quiet moments. As long as he kept his mind busy or blank, he was fine. It was, he quickly realized, a familiar feeling. If leaving were an option he would have. Heading back out on the road always helped.

Rose sipped her tea. The morning newspaper was open in front of her. Jack watched her read and tried not to enjoy the moment too much.

...

"I hope you weren't exaggerating," Ruth said. "I don't enjoy coming to this office, and I don't enjoy being misled."

"I wasn't exaggerating, I assure you," William sid. He slid a file across the desk. "I found your daughter."

Ruth's voice shook. "Where is she?"

"St. Joseph, Missouri," he said. "The file has everything."

The words blurred together as she tried to read. There was a photograph of Rose on a bicycle. Hadn't she told her to stay away from those things? Jack was behind her. Ruth frowned. She'd known he was with her, but seeing it made ignoring him impossible. "What is she doing there?"

"She's working at a hotel, a popular summer place," William said. "It's somewhat exclusive. She and her husband act as caretakers. They have their own living quarters on the grounds, and they're well paid."

"Caretakers?" Ruth said disbelieving.

"It isn't difficult work. Things could be much worse for her," he said. "And there doesn't appear to be any of the sort of trouble she dealt with here."

Ruth shot him a disgusted look. How could he talk about Rose so dispassionately? Refer to what happened as "trouble"? As if it were a mere inconvenience? Rose's life was a disaster. She gave up everything, all those opportunities, and for what? So she could be with Jack, scrubbing floors, at the world's mercy? One person couldn't possibly be worth that much. Ruth was willing to concede Jack was articulate, charming even, and good looking; no dobut he was kind to Rose, that wasn't enough. There was more to life than the fleeting happiness of youth.

...

Rose lay on her stomach in a patch of sun, a book open on the grass. The air was perfectly crisp; the trees matched her hair. Jack held the sketchbook against his knee. A box of pastel crayons was open next to him. He blended the colors, skillfully recreating the beauty of the woods. Rose's face wasn't visible; a curtain of hair obscured it. Jack liked that. There was something about not quite being able to see her; it made you curious. He wished he had a larger piece of paper. The oversize sketchbook was nice, but it didn't do justice to some of the things he tried to draw. What he wouldn't give for a whole canvas to worth with, oils and water colors. His brain teemed with possibilities. If he ever wanted to make a name for himself as an artist-and secretly, he wanted just that-he'd have to start using bolder materials.

A stirring in the bushes caught their attention. They watched a small, grey rabbit hop out. It looked at them, nose twitching. "Do you think we can catch it?" Rose whispered.

"He'd kick us," Jack answered. "And if you drop 'em, they can die."

"I don't want that."

As quickly as he'd come, the rabbit was gone. Rose turned to face Jack. "Would you believe I'd never seen a live rabbit until just now?"

"Really?"

"I've eaten them," she said. "I've seen them as coasts, but never alive, never free like that. It was nice. I'd rather see them alive and free than any other way."

"Does that mean you wouldn't eat one again?"

"No, I would," she said. "I don't know if I'd wear one, though." She rolled onto her back. "I don't care much for fur."

"We wore it sometimes," Jack said. He lay down next to her. "We didn't have whole coats, but one year my mother made us fur-lined gloves. Those were great."

Rose moved closer. He put out his arm, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm glad you had warm hands," she said. "I don't like thinking of you cold."

"I wasn't back then. I slept inside every night," he said. "The first cold night I spent outside I thought I'd die." He laughed at the memory. "It wasn't even that cold, not like back home, but I was so sure I couldn't take it."

"Where were you?"

"Oklahoma. Don't ask why. I don't know," he said. "The first few months I didn't have any kind of plan. I just went places, and that seemed like as good a place as any."

"Did you like there?"

"It was kinda spooky," he said. "So was Kansas. All that flat land with no trees. But it was incredible at night," he added. "I saw every star. Sometimes I'd lay there, trying to count them when I couldn't sleep."

"Did you ever count them all?" she asked.

"No." Jack shook his head. "As big as they were, I couldn't do it. There were too many." He kissed the top of her head. "Maybe we can together. If you'll go up to them with me."

"You know I'll go with you, Jack."

...

Cal offered Andrew the glass. "A drink?"

"Yes, thank you." Andrew swallowed its contents easily. He leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"What's bothering you?" Cal asked. "It can't be this deal. That's all but done. We sign the papers tomorrow."

"It's not the deal."

"So what is it?" Cal said.

"Do you truly want to know?"

"I don't ask questions I don't want the answer to," Cal said. "You can tell me. I may even be able to help. We're friends, after all."

"It's Rose," Andrew said.

"That caretaker's wife?" Cal said, feigning ignorance. "Why are you still thinking about her?"

"Doesn't she seem like more than that to you?"

"She clearly does to you," Cal replied.

"She's better than the life she's leading. I don't know why she's here, but she shouldn't be," Andrew said. "That boy she's with, he's holding her back."

"She wants to be with him."

"She's so young," Andrew said. "She doesn't realize what she's dooming herself to by staying with someone like that."

"And you're going to show her?" Cal laughed. "I don't think she'll be receptive to that, and he might have something to say about it. She's his wife." Cal wanted to see what would happen next even as he warned Andrew away from Rose. He didn't believe she would leave Jack, not if she had any choice, but he was amused by the thought of strain this would put on their marriage. It was ironic; Jack took her from their world in an attempt to save her, and now Andrew was trying to do the same thing by bringing her back.

"He's said plenty already," Andrew replied.

"Been making threats, has he? You should report that. I doubt Richard wants trouble out of his employees."

"He might fire them if I do that," Andrew said. "What would happen to her then?"

"They seem resourceful enough," Cal said. "I imagine they would figure something out. There are other jobs."

"Not as good as this one. You know how Richard overpays his people, and letting them use the cottage? They'd never find another place that nice."

"But if things are going well for them, Rose won't have a reason to turn to you," Cal pointed out. "She doesn't see why Dawson is a poor choice for a husband because he's managed to get along so far. As you said, she doesn't realize what she's doomed herself to."

"What are you suggesting?" Andrew said. "I should have them fired? Thrown out? That's a terrible idea."

"Do you want this girl?"

After a pause Andrew said, "Yes."

"Then you have to do whatever it takes to get her," Cal said. "Make her see the mistake she's made."

...

It was warm and cozy in the kitchen. Virginia chirped as Rose sang, "Your voice is ringing, my Silver Bell. Under its spell I've come to tell you." The kettle whistled, and she set about making tea.

"You're in a good mood," Jack said with a smile.

"Any reason I shouldn't be?" She handed him a cup. "The milk's already on the table."

"So's the Scrabble board," he said.

"Is that what we're doing tonight?" she said coyly. "How exciting."

"It's not a posh gathering." Jack lifted his chin haughtily. "But it should do."

Laughing, she said, "I'd rather have this." He caught her hand and twirled her. They sang the last lines of the song together as they danced. "Of the love I am bringing o'er hill and dell. Happy we'll dwell, my Silver Bell."

"I'll take you dancing again soon," he promised.

"I'll hold you to that."

"I expect you to," he said.

The game went slowly at first. Neither of them put down particularly interesting words, and the scores were low. "My letters are awful," Rose complained.

"Mine aren't much better."

"I'm sure I could find something in them," she argued.

"Wanna trade?" Jack offered.

"Can we do that?"

"It's just the two of us," he said. "I think we can do whatever we want."

"Alright. Let's trade."

Jack studied his new letters. "These aren't so bad," he said. "I can make something out of them."

"Let's see you do it," Rose challenged.

He glanced from the board to the letters. A grin spread across his face. "Phantasmagoric," he said, triumphantly laying them down. "That's thirty five points and a double word score."

"What?" she gasped. "Jack, how did you do that?"

"You already had all these," he said, pointing. "And the rest were on the board. See?"

"No, I must admit, I didn't see it." She frowned at the board, determined to find a word capable of besting him. It didn't take long to see such a word wasn't going to present itself during this round. However, there was a word she could play that was sure to get a reaction.

"Bite," she said, dropping her voice and looking into his eyes.

His grin returned. "Interesting choice."

"You always seem to like it," she said.

Jack cleared his throat. "How can I not with the way you do it?"

"Good to know."

So this was the game they were playing. Jack sipped his tea and looked over his letters. Winning had nothing to do with points now; he needed a whole new strategy. He shook his head. "I got nothin."

"You aren't giving up, are you?" she said. "The Jack I know would never do that."

"Well, maybe..." He pretended to ponder. "Maybe this will work." He laid down the letters and sat back. "Pleasure. And a double letter score for the U."

"You think you're smart, don't you?" she said.

Jack shrugged. A smiled flickered in his eyes. "I know what I'm good at."

"You're certain?"

"I get a good response," he said. "And my critic isn't somone you can please without skill."

A light blush covered Rose's cheeks. "She isn't too demanding?"

Jack shook his head. "No, Rose. Half the fun is trying to make you happy."

Her face felt hotter. "It's my turn." Her hands were unsteady as she spelled out the next word. "Hard. It's only eight points, but it's the best I can do."

His eyes darkened. "It's a good one."

"Do you think so?"

"Well, you seem to like it," he teased

Rose tried not to smile as she whispered, "You're quite sure of yourself, Jack." She shivered as he caressed her hand. "It's your turn," he said.

"No, it's yours," she laughed. "Getting a little confused, my darling?"

"That's not the word I'd use."

"What word would you use?" she asked. She reached for his other hand. It was such a little thing, the touching of hands, but it felt like so much more.

"Maybe I'll spell it," he replied. "I need a hand."

"Sorry."

"Want," he said, setting down the letters.

Their eyes met; their hands came together again. "Jack, what is it about this game?"

"I don't know," he answered. "Think we should switch games?"

Rose shook her head. "I like this one."

"Want to keep playing?"

"Not here," she said.

The bed was cold, but their bodies were on fire. The blankets tangled around them. Their kisses were long and breathless. The initial fever subsided, and they settled into a luxurious rhythm.

It was like Rose could read his mind. At times like this Jack wasn't sure she couldn't. He would've laughed if he knew she suspected the same thing about him.

...

The sky was just beginning to lighten. Rose lay in his arms, warm and heavy. "Did you count the stars?" she asked sleepily.

"Only the ones on you."

"I don't have any," she said.

"Sure you do." Jack's eyes closed. "You glow like a star, and you're as soft as petals in my hands."

"Do you ever think you should have been a poet?"

He laughed. "You bring it out in me. I didn't really say things like that before I met you."

"I find that hard to believe."

The sun appeared over the horizon as they fell asleep. Rose's sleep was dreamless, but Jack's was a nightmare from the start. Everything was so vivid, the colors, the textures, even the smells. He was back home with his parents, but something wasn't right. They were sick. Dying. It was exactly the way he remembered, only this time he was alone. No-one came to help.

It was his fault, all of it, only he didn't know why. Their eyes were accusing. He couldn't hear them, but he didn't need to. Their anger was palpable. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. Suddenly, the scene changed. He was in the boat again, alone. The frigid air was full of anguished cries. "Rose?" he called.

The cries grew louder. They moved toward the boat, reaching for him. He stood in the middle of the boat, shrinking away from the mass of frozen hands. He couldn't let them touch him. If they touched him, he would die.

"You were supposed to die." Was that Fabrizo's voice? It sounded like him, but this was voice had an anger he'd never heard from Fabrizo. The chant spread, and Jack realized all the voices were familiar. Somehow, he'd hurt them all; his life stole theirs. "No!" he yelled. "No, its not like that!" They were getting closer now; any second they'd pull him under.

Maybe that's what he deserved. Jack didn't know anymore. Their voices were so loud. He felt the cold radiating from them. And then, without warning, they pulled back, and there in front of him was Rose. Her eyes were the worst. The look of betrayal she wore sliced through him. "Please, Rose, I'm sorry!" he cried. "I love you."

Her voice was empty. "No, you don't. You're too selfish to love anyone. You ruined my life, Jack."

"I didn't-I wasn't-Rose, no!"

"Jack, wake up!" Rose shook him. "It's just a nightmare. Wake up."

Jack's eyes opened. He struggled to breathe. The room was drenched in late afternoon sunshine. Rose peered down at him with a concerned expression. "It was a dream?" he said.

"Yes, it was all a dream. Whatever you were afraid of, it's not real," she said.

He sat up. "It felt so real."

"What happened?"

"I-I don't remember," he lied.

...

Ruth had never liked trains, even when she travelled in deluxe, First Class compartments. They were too loud and cramped. Now that she was forced to sit among the common people, trains were unbearable. The entire journey had been one trial after another. Babies crying. Children jumping about. Couples squabbling. The smells of food blending together. Snorting. Sneezing. Snoring. And an endless series of stops.

"St. Joseph," the conductor called as the train lurched to a halt. Finally. Quickly, Ruth gathered her things. She was never so happy to step out into an autumn day. At least the depot was clean, and there was fresh air.

Ruth stopped at a restaurant down the street. She didn't want to, but she had to admit she needed food. However unappetizing this place might be, it was positively gourmet compared to what the train offered. And this gave her time to work out a plan. The racket of the train made thinking impossible. All she could focus on was seeing Rose again. How could she convince her to leave? The marriage Ruth envisioned for her wasn't possible anymore, but somewhere there had to be a more suitable man than Jack, a man who could look past her foolish choices and save her.

...

They were in the garden when Richard found them. "Good, you're both here," he said. "I need to speak with you."

"What's going on?" Jack asked.

"Well, the season's over next week. Most of the guests are already gone, as you've probably noticed. So, there are some things I need you to do."

"Like what?" Rose said.

Richard produced a list from his pocket. "You'll find it all here. There are still a few people staying on, friends of mine. Just try not to disturb them while you work."

"We won't disturb them," Rose said.

"Oh, and if you could get most of that done by next week, it would be appreciated," Richard said. "When the winter weather hits you won't be able to do most of the outdoor tasks."

"Sure," Jack said. "No problem."

The list was two pages long. "He wants us to do all of that in a week?" Rose said when he was gone. "The painting alone will take that long."

"He wants two coats," Jack said. "It might take longer."

"Do you think it really needs it?"

Jack studied the hotel. "I don't know," he answered. "If it were up to me I'd say no, but it's not."

"I suppose we should get started."

...

In fact the list was meant to be spread over the next couple of months, but at Andrew's insistence-and with some prodding from Cal-Richard gave it to them all at once with Cal's suggested timeline. Richard's only concern was that everything was done. If they finished quickly, so much the better. There were always more things that needed doing.

Ruth stood at the edge of the grounds, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rose. She wasn't ready to talk to her yet, but she had to see her. That's where she was when Andrew found her.


	20. Chapter 20

"May I assist you with anything?" Andrew said. Ruth regarded him warily. His smooth, cultured voice and nice clothes marked him as a person of quality, but he was still a stranger. It was best to tread lightly. "Please, don't think me rude," he said. "But you remind me of someone. Your hair is particularly familiar."

Did he know Rose? Ruth's heart beat faster. Was it possible? "It is?" she said.

They came into view before he could respond. They were across the lawn, but there was no mistaking them. Ruth's hand went to her mouth. She watched them walking, hand in hand. Rose's curls blew freely. She wore a grey coat. Andrew's gaze moved from Ruth to the couple in the distance. "Do you know them?" he asked, trying not to let his suspicions be heard.

"That's a rather impertinent question."

"Forgive me," he said. "It's only that I know her, and you look quite like her." Ruth didn't answer. "Perhaps we could discuss this somewhere else?" he suggested.

They were gone now. Ruth drew in a long breath. "Yes, perhaps we should," she said.

…..

"Well, we finished most of the grounds work," Rose said. "What's left can be done in the morning." She yawned and stretched her arms above her head, not caring who saw.

"There's still more painting to do," Jack said. "That'll take a few days. I gotta clean the gutters first."

"You aren't going on the roof, are you?" Her voice was sharper than intended.

"I gotta go up on the ladder," he said. "It's not hard. I'll be done in a couple hours, at most."

"Jack, you shouldn't do that."

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "Trust me."

"Let me help," Rose offered. "We'll be finished that much faster if you do."

"We only have one ladder."

He was right. There was no argument she could make. Rose frowned. "I don't like the idea of you up on a ladder," she said. "What if you fall again?"

"I won't. That was a one-time, crazy accident," Jack said. "First and only time I've ever fallen off a roof. It won't happen again, Rose-Petal. There's nothing to worry about." He squeezed her hand. "C'mon, let's have a hot bath and some dinner. We'll feel better."

Rose wasn't convinced, but she didn't protest as he led her back home. It would be a waste of energy, and she had so little to spare.

…..

"So, you're Rose's mother," Andrew said. The hotel's back dining room was empty. Most of its rooms were empty, but he hadn't wanted to take a chance on being interrupted. The fire threw warmth into the large, ornate room. Ruth sat stiffly across from him. "Yes," she said. "But you haven't explained how you know her."

"We met here," he said. "I assisted when her husband was injured some weeks ago. She's quite an intriguing girl. I've wanted to know more about her ever since." He spoke casually, but Ruth sensed the depth of his interest. This was it; this was the chance she'd been hoping for. Of course, he couldn't know that. "He was injured?" she said. "What happened?"

"He fell off the roof," Andrew said. "They went up the morning after a storm to make repairs. Some shingles had blown off, and he stepped on a slick patch of wood. He just went right over the edge."

"He looked fine today."

"Oh yes, he recovered quickly," he said. "Rose was distraught when it happened. I imagine she took excellent care of him."

Of course she did. "Where she wasn't hurt?"

"Not a bit," he said. "She's a strong girl. She works alongside him easily. Though you'd rather she didn't, wouldn't you?"

"There are many things I'd rather had happened in my daughter's life," she said.

"I can tell. I suspected she was better than this life she's leading," Andrew said. "Meeting you confirms it."

"Well, she's gone and married him. I fear there's nothing to be done about it now."

"Perhaps there is," he said thoughtfully.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing yet," he said. "It's just, if I may, I'd like to see her in better circumstances, in a setting that more closely reflects her upbringing and refined nature."

"So would I," Ruth said.

…..

"Here," Rose said, holding out the cup.

"Tea in the tub?" Jack said. "I feel special." He took a sip and grinned. "Hot chocolate?"

"You didn't know we had any, did you?" She brushed his damp hair back. "Drink that, and when you're dressed, I'll have dinner finished."

"Why do I have to get dressed?"

She half-smiled. "Because it's cold, Jack. You'll get a chill if you run around naked. Though I guess it's up to you."

Jack reached for her hand. "No, I won't," he said. "Not with you around."

"_I_ will be dressed."

'But I like what you're wearing now," he said. His eyes moved up her bare legs to the hem of the woolen undershirt she wore. The top button was undone. It hung loosely on him, but on her it hugged every curve perfectly. Jack felt an overwhelming desire to carry her off to bed. She was right; the house _was_ cold, but their bed wouldn't be, not for long.

Rose kissed his forehead. "No, Jack."

"You don't know what I was thinking."

"I do," she said. "And now isn't the time."

Jack watched her go, the hot water rising over him. The rich chocolate slid over his tongue. It was a flavor he associated with her; all sweet things brought her to mind.

….

Rose fell asleep as soon as they settled in bed. She lay against him, her arm across his stomach. Jack held her and tried to match the rhythm of her breathing. Sleep was coming, but he feared being overtaken by it. The dream would come again. It came every night now. He woke up without disturbing Rose most of the time, but the dream wasn't any easier to deal with. If anything, it was getting worse.

Jack closed his eyes and counted breathes. If he was calm, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it wouldn't feel so real. 1, 2, 3, 4….He lost his place. 10, 11, 12….

His teeth chattered. His body shook. The cold cut into hi, through layers of cloth and skin, piercing the center of him. Jack struggled for breath. It was so dark. Where was he? The ground was hard, but at last he was dry. He stood up, afraid to move in any direction. Anything might be out there, waiting for him. His heart pounded.

The voice was low at first, little more than a whisper. As it grew louder, he realized it was Rose. She was crying. She was afraid. Hurt. Lost out in that cold darkness. Jack ran without thinking. He followed her voice. "Rose!" He was getting close. Her cries were all around him; her pain pressed in on him. The darkness cleared, and he saw her. She was pale; her curls were dull and tangled. She stared at him through empty eyes.

"Rose." He reached for her, but his hand passed through her.

"You can't touch me, Jack," she said in a hollow voice. "Not ever. Not after what you did."

Jack jerked away. His heart beat pounded. "Jack?" Rose switched on the lamp. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied. "I'm fine."

"You're shivering." She pulled the blankets over him. She pressed her lips to his cheek. "You aren't hot," she said. "Was it another dream?"

"It was just a dream," he said.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Jack shook his head. "I don't really remember anyway," he replied. "Probably best to just go back to sleep."

"Are you sure? We can stay up, if you'd rather."

"We don't hafta do that." He kissed her. "I'll be fine."

….

"Jack!" Rose's voice rang out across the empty lawn. "Jack!" He looked down from his perch atop the ladder, wet leaves and muck in his hands. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest; her eyes blazed, and her hair seemed even redder. "Yeah?" he said, feigning ignorance. "What is it, Rose?"

"Don't pretend you don't know," she snapped. "I told you not to go up there alone. Why didn't you listen?"

"Petal, it's fine. I'm almost done."

"That is not the point," she said. "You know it worries me, but you did it anyway."

"It had to be done," he said. "You can't come up here with me."

"I could stand on the roof."

"I appreciate the concern, but what good would that do?" he asked. "If I fell, and you tried to stop me, we'd both fall. I don't want that."

"Jack, please come down."

"I will," he promised. "Just as soon as I'm finished. I'm being careful. It'll be alright."

Rose sighed. It was slightly irrational; she knew that, but she couldn't help worrying. Jack looked so small up there. If he fell-No, she couldn't think like that.

Jack saw them out of the corner of his eyes. Ruth's hair caught his attention. Had it been any other color, he probably wouldn't have noticed it. He turned, and there they were, on the edge of the lawn. Ruth and Andrew. They were small, but he knew instinctively it was them. They were just standing there, watching. Why? He didn't know whether or not to tell Rose. Did they want to be seen? How had Ruth managed to find them? Or had Andrew found her?

"Jack, what's wrong?"

He turned his gaze back to rose. "Nothing. I'm kinda hungry. Are you ready for lunch?"

"Sure," she said. "I'll go get things started."

"I'll be there in a minute."

They were still there. They seemed to be looking back at him now. What did they want? That was a stupid question. He knew exactly what they wanted. "You can't have her," he said. "She won't go."

…..

Ruth had been given a room, at Andrew's request. Even more guests checked out that morning, leaving only the two of them and Cal in the hotel. She was as unaware of his presence as he was of hers. Andrew still didn't realize exactly who Rose was, and Ruth's story had been purposefully lacking in certain details. Ruth was supposed to stay out of sight for a while, but she went looking for Rose again anyway.

"I see we're doing the same thing," Andrew said when they met. He nodded toward Rose. Only her hair was easily recognizable from that distance. Jack was hard to see, but he was there. "Do you watch her often?" Ruth asked.

"Don't misunderstand," Andrew said. "I have no prurient interest in her. Sometimes I look for her. I can't stop myself. I'm concerned for her."

The more time she spent with him, the stronger Ruth's suspicions grew. This man loved Rose. He wasn't interested in helping her just for the sake of it. He wanted her for himself. It was better than if she'd planned it herself. Here was a handsome, well-mannered, rich man, and he wanted Rose, just as she was; he wanted to save her. His family wasn't quite was established as theirs; a hint of new money still hung about them, and he didn't have quite as many connections as Cal, but it would more than do, given the lack of choices. "I understand," she said.

"I still don't see what possessed her to marry him," he said. "To give up her life."

"She's young and inexperienced; she knew so little of the world when they met. I doubt she really understood the consequences of her actions." It was partly true, though Rose knew exactly what she was doing, which made her choice all the more galling. Ruth only hoped she'd spent enough time poor to realize it wasn't a game. Living with Jack might be fun now, but it wouldn't last.

"We'll figure out a way to help her," Andrew said reassuringly.

…..

Jack out his arms around her from behind. "Still mad at me?" he said, kissing her cheek.

"I'm not mad. I was worried. That's all."

"I'm fine," he said. "See?"

"I don't like you being up there. I keep remembering when you fell. Watching you…." Rose shook her head. "I thought you were dead, Jack. For a few horrifying moments, you were gone."

He hugged her tighter. "I'd never leave you like that," he said. "You don't hafta worry."

"So much has happened to us. It feels like something new happens whenever we relax."

"I know what you mean," he said. The kettle whistled. Jack let go of her reluctantly. "Rose, what, uh, what would you do if you saw your mother again?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"What? Why would you ask that?"

"Just curious." He shrugged.

"I haven't really thought about it," she said. "It would probably depend on why I saw her and where. I know I'd tell her I'm happy and marrying you was the right choice. I'd ask her to try and accept that. I'd want to know how she was doing."

"Really?"

"Yes," Rose said. "I know this isn't the life she wanted for me, and I can understand why, but I couldn't live the life she chose."

"You'd rather be with me, even after everything that's happened?" he said.

"You have to ask?"

…

"You know, this isn't the kind of painting I wanna do," Jack said. "They stood at the back of the hotel, supplied gathered. Jack wore old clothes; Rose wore an outfit of his. "None of my clothes are in great shape," he'd said. "I'd rather have two sets covered in paint than you lose a dress." Rose agreed after some hesitation.

"Think of it as practice," she replied. "A sort of technical exercise designed to help you improve. Pretend you're learning about brush strokes or something."

"Guess that's one way to think about it."

"I hope you know what you're doing," she said.

"Not really." Jack chuckled. "We'll figure it out."

"So confident."

They started with bare patches of wall, avoiding windows and doors. The work was slow and steady. Even with fresh air all around them, the paint fumes were strong. Rose ignored the headache they brought. There wasn't time to stop just for her.

"You should paint," she said. "I'd like to see what you'd do with a whole canvas and some color."

"You'd be underwhelmed."

"Don't say that," she said. "I believe in you, Jack."

He smiled. "Let's see how this goes first."

"Well, aside from the smell, I don't mind it."

"It's kinda relaxing, isn't it?" he said. After a pause he added, "Rose?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me story?"

"A story?" she said. "What about?"

"You. I wanna hear more about your life. I've told you all about mine."

"You've told me everything?" she said skeptically. "Really?"

"Mostly everything. I mighta left out a few stories," he said.

"Do you honestly want to hear about my cossetted upbringing?"

"Please?" he said.

"Alright. Let me think."

…

"And that's the story of my cousin Celia's coming out ball," Rose said. "Exciting, wasn't it?"

"A bit, yeah," Jack said. "Especially the part where you let the cat go in the middle of it."

"I did not let her go. She got away. There's a difference. I was only eight. I just wanted to watch the party and pet the cat at the same time. Was that so much to ask for?" she said.

"No."

"Mother was furious," she went on. "She spent a week in bed, and then she went to Newport three months early."

"She didn't take you?"

"Of course not. I only went on family trips, and there weren't many of those. Besides, she was trying to get _away_ from me. From the public humiliation I caused."

"I don't know how she could do that," he said.

"You're sweet, Jack, but my family sees things somewhat differently."

"Why didn't you go to them for help?" he asked. "Instead of Cal?"

"Mother would never do that. She'd die before admitting she needs help, and she's always prided herself on being the ruler of the family. To tell them she lost everything, to ask for their charity, it was more than she could bear. It's the same pride that kept my father from getting help when the financial trouble began."

"Do you ever wonder what woulda happened if he'd lived?" Jack said.

"No. Do you want to hear about _my_ coming out ball?"

"I'd love to," he said.

"I must warn you, it wasn't nearly as exciting as cousin Celia's. There were no cats."

"You didn't insist on at least one?"

"I did very little insisting about anything in those days," Rose replied. "My mother planned everything, right down to my dress."

"What did you wear?"

"White, of course," she said.

"Yes, of course," he said in a haughty tone.

"Elbow-length gloves and a strand of pearls," she went on. "I could hardly breathe; my dress was so tight."

"I don't like that part so much, but I bet you were beautiful."

"The whole party was a bit of a blur, really," she said. "I didn't even get to enjoy the dancing. I was too worried about accepting the wrong person and offending someone. Mother watched me the whole time. That's…"

"What?" Jack prompted.

"That's where I met Cal," Rose said. "I haven't thought of it in so long. Would you rather not hear about it?"

"It's fine."

"We only danced once," she said. "Any more would've been _highly_ inappropriate."

"Highly," Jack echoed in the haughty tone.

She laughed. "It's a bit absurd, isn't it?"

"If I'd been there I woulda danced with you all night."

Rose gasped in mock horror. "Why Jack, you couldn't bring such a scandal down on our heads!"

"I defy convention!" he cried, throwing his head back.

"Scandal!" Rose cried. She laughed. "It's a good thing no-one's around."

"Especially after that scene you made earlier."

"I did not make a scene," she said. "That was not a scene."

"It was a scene, Miss."

"Maybe it was," she said. "But it was for a good cause." She stepped back and surveyed their work. "We've made a lot of progress, haven't we?"

"We have." Jack wasn't looking at the wall; he was looking at her.

**AN: Thanks for reading everyone! I hope you enjoy the updates I'm posting. More are on the way! **


	21. Chapter 21

Jack pedaled quickly, the early morning sun warm on his back. The basket was full. The shop had just opened when he arrived. With any luck, Rose wouldn't be up when he got home. He'd woken up early, breaking out of the nightmare, and found the kitchen nearly empty. No eggs. No bread. No milk. They had enough to throw together a lunch, but beyond that, it was either soda crackers or a shopping trip. Might as well get some of it over with now, he figured. They had another long day of painting ahead of them, and the last thing either of them would want to do at the end of it was go into town.

Jack's bicycle screeched to a halt when he saw Cal standing outside the gate that led to the house. It was their private entrance; there was even a sign posted. No-one ever came around that way. Jack walked toward him slowly, eyes firmly fixed on him. He was glad he had the bicycle to hold onto. Cal watched him, a tranquil expression on his face.

"What do you want?" Jack asked coolly.

Cal's expression didn't change. "I came to tell you something."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "What could you possibly have to tell us?"

"Not us, _you_," Cal replied. "Since you mention her, where is your better half? I didn't think the two of you went anywhere alone if you could avoid it."

"She's home, asleep."

"And you're out doing all this while she sleeps in?" Cal said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Well, I imagine _life_ with you must be rather tiring." The emphasis he placed made clear exactly what he meant.

"What do you want?" Jack demanded.

"I'd like to know what she looks like when she sleeps."

Unbidden, the image of Rose as she was when he left flashed in Jack's mind. She lay on her stomach, curls fanned across the pillow. The blankets had slid down, revealing her creamy back. He'd wanted to draw her. She was so beautiful, but when more than that, she was peaceful. Nothing disturbed her sleep. They made love quickly the night before, too tired to linger over each other, and she fell asleep next to him.

That was it. There was nothing complicated about it as far as she was concerned. Jack was glad. One of them should have peace. He pulled the blanket over her, pausing to kiss her shoulder. Her skin wore its sleep scent, and he briefly considered abandoning his plan and getting back into bed. They could wake up late and make love again, slowly this time, before lunch. It had been a while since they'd done that.

They couldn't, of course. There was too much still to be done. The list of tasks was stalled at painting, which was taking longer than expected.

Jack pushed the image away, but not before Cal saw something in his face. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. Jack frowned. "We're not talking about her," he said.

"Of course we are," Cal said. "Don't get so offended. I came to warn you."

"That's likely."

"It's true," Cal said.

"Why? What are you planning? There's just nothing else to do here, is that it?"

"I'm not doing anything," Cal said with exaggerated patience. "If you'd stop being so suspicious and _listen_ for a minute, you'd find out what's going on."

"Alright," Jack said. "I'm listening."

"You know he wants her."

"I thought you had something new to tell me," Jack said. "I don't have time for this."

"Did you know her mother's here?"

"How do you know about that?" Jack asked. "I can't see them telling you."

"I have ways," Cal replied. "So, you did know? Good for you then. I'm assuming you haven't told her."

"No," Jack admitted grudgingly.

"Neither would I." The approval in Cal's voice made Jack uncomfortable. Cal went on, "Do you know how close they've gotten? Or what they're planning?"

A chill ran down Jack's spine. It was ridiculous. They couldn't make Rose leave, and she wouldn't want to. He gripped the bicycle tighter. Or would she? The voice whispered in his ear. It sounded like his own thoughts, but Jack knew it wasn't. It was the voice of the nightmares, the voice of his deepest guilt and fear. He had to ignore it.

"They can't change anything," Jack said. "She married me. They can't make her leave."

"No, I suppose they can't," Cal said. "But there are other ways to get someone to do what you want, and they have nothing to do with force." His gaze met Jack's. "He isn't like me," he went on. "Whatever he does, you won't be able to fight it. Andrew is-more subtle than I am. I tried to get rid of you, but he won't. He'll put his efforts toward making Rose want to go back."

Jack kept his face blank. "Why should I believe anything you say? You hate me. You hate both of us. The last thing you'd ever do is help us stay together."

"You know I'm telling the truth," Cal said. "You've heard me lie."

"You aren't as good as you think."

"Well, then there's no reason to distrust me," Cal said.

"I don't get it," Jack said. "Why are you telling me all this? What's in it for you?"

"Maybe I'm becoming altruistic."

"Now you're lying," Jack said. "You've never done anything for anyone else in your whole life."

"Yes, well, as much as I enjoy being told about myself, especially by you," Cal said. "I'm afraid this concludes our tête-à-tête." He turned to go. "Watch out for him," he added. "If you want to stay with her."

…..

Rose was up when Jack came through the back door. He didn't know how long he stood at the gate, going over what Cal said. She was dressed, her hair pulled back. "Jack, what's wrong?" she asked. She peered at him with concerned eyes. "Do you feel alright?"

"Fine," he lied. "I went to get some things for breakfast." At least he remembered to bring the bags inside.

"That was thoughtful of you," she said. "I can't believe we've neglected the shopping for so long." She took out the eggs. "Fried with toast?"

"Sure," Jack said. "I'd like that."

Smiling, she kissed him. "I missed you, you know. After you got up."

"I thought you were asleep."

"I can always tell when you aren't there," she said.

Jack's fears evaporated under her gaze. She wouldn't leave. He was a fool to doubt her, to doubt them. They were strong together. "I'll help you make breakfast," he offered.

"Thank you."

…..

Cal put himself in Andrew's way around lunch. "You don't have any plans, I assume?" he said.

"Well-" The trust was, Andrew had plans to dine with Ruth, but since he was still keeping her a secret, or so he thought, he was forced to say, "No, none at all."

Grinning, Cal clapped him on the back. "Good. Let's find somewhere decent and have lunch. If this town has such a place."

"One moment. I need to check for any messages." Andrew hastily scribbled a note for Ruth and sent one of the few remaining maids up to her room with it. Cal was pretending to study a paintings in the lobby when he returned. "Ready to go?" Andrew said.

"Oh, yes," Cal said absently.

"I didn't know you liked art."

"I don't, really," Cal replied. "Not generally." He kept his tone casual. "But do you know who might? That girl. Rose."

"What makes you say that?" Andrew asked.

"Just a guess. She seems like the type."

The truth was, Cal had nothing better to do than hang around and watch the chaos unfold. He didn't want to go home to go home yet and face an empty house and even emptier city. At least something was happening here. And he was a bit interested in how Jack would handle Andrew. Would he face him directly? Try to ignore him? Or would he end up losing Rose? A small part of Cal hoped he wouldn't. He didn't necessarily want them happy together; he couldn't go quite that far, but Jack had won. There was a grudging respect for him amidst the hatred and disdain. He also just didn't care for Andrew's methods. Yes, he'd lied and schemed and used a henchman to get rid of Jack, but at least Jack _knew_ that's what he was doing. The fight had been between them. Jack had even said exactly what was happening just before his arrest.

It never occurred to Cal to even consider Rose, now or back then. His only real interest had been Jack; he was the threat. Rather than find ways of making her want to stay, he preferred to find ways to keep Jack away from her.

Well, the necklace had been one attempt to make her happy, a somewhat weak attempt, he now realized. It wasn't at all the sort of thing Rose would care about. Inviting Jack to dinner was also supposed to appease her, not bring them together. How could he have been so wrong?

Perhaps Andrew was right. Cal didn't let himself seriously consider that. Even without his help, Cal suspected Jack would keep her. He'd fought once already and won.

"What are you planning to do?" Cal asked.

"I'm not sure yet," Andrew said. "I'm hoping an opportunity will present itself. This matter is rather delicate, after all."

"Indeed. Trying to win over a happily married woman always is."

"I don't think she's happy," Andrew said.

"Why is that?" Cal said.

"This life isn't enough for her. Maybe it is now, but soon, very soon, she will regret her choice. She'll look around and see everything she gave up, and what did she gain? Nothing."

Those were Ruth's words. Cal could almost hear her saying them. "What if you're wrong?"

"I thought you were on my side," Andrew said.

"I am," Cal replied. "But you have to consider every possibility. She's given no indication she wants to leave her husband. I'd hate for you to make a fool of yourself."

"I won't," Andrew said. "When the time comes, I'll know, and I'll make my move."

….

Rose stepped back to survey their work. "It's coming along nicely," she said. "Another coat, and we should be finished with this side."

"I think you're right," Jack said. He brushed his hair back, leaving a streak of pain across his forehead. Rose laughed. "What?" he said. He glanced at his hand. "It's on my face, isn't it?"

She nodded, giggling. "It looks good."

"You're laughing."

"But I like it," she said. "You look like a painter."

"Maybe I'll be a famous house painter," he joked. "Sought after for my trim work, renowned for my ability to paint any size structure in under a week."

"If that's what you want."

Jack's eyes flickered. "It's not," he said, before he could stop himself. Ambition wasn't something he generally admitted to having. It wasn't something he thought much about. He drew because he loved it, but sometimes, he wanted more. When he saw great art, after the initial awe cooled, after he'd drunk in all they had to teach, all their beauty and depths, he wanted to create something as good. He didn't want to just be rich and famous; he just wanted to be _as good_. Jack wanted to be a great artist, one way or another.

He didn't want to give up the life he had. The freedom. The experiences. Those made his drawings what they were. But then again, hadn't he given some of it up when he married Rose?

"What do you want, Jack?" she asked.

"I have everything I could want."

"I believe you," she said. "But there's something else. You don't have to tell me."

"We should take a break, for lunch. Your hands are cold," he added.

"So are yours."

"I'll find us some gloves," Jack said.

…..

It grew colder as the afternoon wore on. They worked faster to stay warm. "A few more days at most, and we'll be finished," Rose said cheerfully.

Jack smiled. "We'll manage."

She wore a coat over an outfit of his, gloves, and had a scarf wrapped around her head. Her cheeks glowed pink. Jack thought she was adorable. He wanted to take her hand and head off on an adventure. "I like this," Rose said. "I've told you that before, already, though, haven't I?" She chuckled sheepishly.

"You can say it again. I'm glad you're happy, Rose."

"Are you?"

"What?" he said. The question caught him off guard. "Of course I'm happy."

"You haven't been sleeping well. Don't say I'm wrong, Jack. We share the bed. I can tell."

"Yeah, I've had some trouble lately," he said. "But it's nothing. You shouldn't worry about it. It's not about you. I mean, you aren't the reason." _Isn't she_? the voice asked. If he never brought her along, he wouldn't be having this problem. _If I'd left her with him, I'd worry. This is about me._

_Yes, it is_, the voice answered. _It's about you failing. It's about you not deserving this life, let alone her._

"Jack?" Rose touched his arm. For a moment there was anguish etched on his face. Rose saw everything, the guilt and fear, the grief, and her heart broke for him. He blinked and rearranged his features, burying the feelings again. "You can tell me," he said. "Whatever you're feeling, Jack, you can tell me. After what we've been through together, after what you've seen me through, I'd think you knew that."

"I do know," Jack said. "Rose, believe me, it's not that I don't trust you."

She looked deep in his eyes. "I understand." While they talked the sun sank behind the trees. "We may as well go inside," she said.

"I'll clean the brushes," he offered. "You go get warm."

"I can help."

"It won't take long. Go on," he said.

"Don't coddle me, Jack."

"I'm not," he said. "Maybe I'm hoping there'll be a pot of tea waiting when I get inside." He grinned. She placed a light kiss on his lips. "In that case," she said.

Rose wasn't looking at the ground. She never saw the hole. It was just big enough for her foot. She stepped right in it and pitched forward with a cry of surprise. Her ankle wrenched, and sharp pains shot up her leg. She lay there, unsure at first what happened. Rose turned, slowly taking her foot from the hole.

It wasn't far from the house. Had she not been distracted by the pain she would have realize it was directly in the path she normally took. She hoisted herself to her feet, determined to make it the rest of the way. Rose managed a few steps before her ankle gave out, and she collapsed again, in more pain than ever. She was lying in a heap on the cold ground when Jack found her.

"Rose?" he cried. He ran toward her, narrowly avoiding the hole. He dropped to his knees next to her. "What happened?"

"I stepped a in a hole back there and fell," Rose explained. "I hurt my ankle."

"You tried to walk on it?" he said.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you call for me?" Jack asked.

"I thought I might still make it back."

"Rose," he sighed. "My stubborn Rose-Petal." He scooped her up as gently as he could. "Let's get inside."

"I can walk if-"

"No, you can't," Jack said firmly. "You'll make it worse."

He laid her on the couch and set about warming the room. "Let's see," he said, carefully removing her shoe and sock. Her ankle was swollen to twice its normal size and bruised a dark purple, almost black. He moved his fingers over it. "That hurt?"

Rose winced. "Yes."

"What about here?"

"Uh-huh." Tears sprang into her eyes.

"You can't walk on it," Jack said. "It doesn't feel broken, but I might be wrong. Either way, it needs rest." He placed a pillow under her knee and two under her foot. "That should help," he said.

"Jack, I can't just sit here," Rose said.

"Sure you can."

"For tonight, perhaps, but tomorrow—"

"Tomorrow you'll be in bed, getting better," he said. "And that's where you'll stay until you can walk again."

"Jack-" she began.

"Rose."

They stared at each other. "I'll get you some ice," he said. "I think we still have some. A hot bath'll help too."

"It's only a swollen ankle," she argued.

"And they were just bruised ribs," he said.

"It's not the same."

"Is to me." Jack said. He kissed her forehead. "Don't get up, alright?"

"I won't," she sighed.

Jack gently placed a tea towel full of ice against her ankle. He put a cup of tea in her hands. "I'm gonna make dinner," he said.

…

Rose didn't protest when he carried her to the bathtub or when he carried her to bed. Once again, he placed a pillow under her knee and two under her foot. "Try not to move it too much," he said. "Maybe the swelling will go down by morning." Before she could respond, he added, "You still need to rest even if it does."

"Are you telling me what to do, Jack?" she asked.

"I'm telling you not to hurt yourself more," he said.

"I know."

"Do I sound bossy?" he asked.

"You mean well," Rose said.

"I'll work on the tone."

….

Jack couldn't sleep. Something kept nagging at him. Where did the hole come from"? They walked from the toolshed to the house all the time and never noticed one. It wasn't possible to have missed it all those times. They trimmed the grass. There was simply no way they wouldn't have seen it.

Jack slipped outside as the sun was rising. He bent down next to the hole. It wasn't deep; it was just right for twisting an ankle, and as he suspected, it was freshly dug. He looked around for signs of an animal but found none. He hadn't really expected one. It wasn't the right time of year. He took shovel and filled it in, Cal's warning in his ears. Was this what he meant?


	22. Chapter 22

The next morning the swelling in Rose's ankle had gone down slightly, but the bruise was ugly and dark. It covered her entire ankle and part of her foot. Gingerly, Jack examined the wound. "You can't come help today," he said.

"Of course I can."

"Not with this ankle you can't," he said.

"Jack, I gave to help," she said. "We have a deadline, remember? It's been difficult enough with both of us working."

"I don't care. You need to stay off this ankle. It'll only get worse if you don't."

"I'm fine," she insisted. She leapt to her feet, swallowing a gasp of pain. She tightened her jaw and lifted her foot slightly, taking some of the weight off.

Jack gave her a dubious look. "Rose, put your weight on your foot," he said.

"I am."

"No, you're not," he said.

"Sure I am. Can't you see?" she said. Holding her breath, she put her foot flat on the floor. Tears sprang into her eyes. "I'm fine," she insisted with forced cheerfulness.

"No, you're not," Jack said, sweeping her up into his arms. "You're going to stay home and get better today, Rose."

Rose tossed her curls. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Your body's telling you what to do." He sat her down in a chair. "If you keep walking on it, your ankle might break, and then what? You'll be in bed for weeks."

"You won't get everything finished in time if I'm not there to help," Rose said.

"I'll figure somethin out."

"But Jack—"

"Rose, please," he said. "You're more important. I stayed in bed and got better for you."

She sighed. "Yes, you did."

Jack kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry. Everything'll be fine."

…

Jack wrapped her ankle in bandages and carried her to the couch. She lay back, pillows under her knee and foot. "Try not to get up," he said. "I'll be back at lunch. Don't make anything, alright?"

"I won't, Jack."

"I mean it, Rose," he said. "Don't hurt yourself."

"I won't, Jack," she said.

Rose tilted her head up for his kiss. "I love you," he said. "I'd like you in one piece."

"I will be. When you get home, I'll be here, on this couch," she promised.

"Good." He kissed her again.

"_You_ be careful too," she said.

When he was gone she allowed herself a sigh. This _would_ happen at exactly the worse time. Why hadn't she seen the hole? It was dark, but still….Rose wanted to blame herself, but it wasn't working. She knew her fall was an accident. It could have happened to anyone. It could just as easily have happened to Jack. At least it hadn't happened to Jack. He certainly would have insisted on going back to work.

Rose picked up a book from the table. There was still so much to do, too much for one person. What if it took more than a day or two for her ankle to heal? What if Jack wasn't able to finish on time? Would they lose their jobs? Winter was coming on. Surely that wouldn't happen. It couldn't.

But what if it did? Where would they go? The thought of packing their things and going off to somewhere new was overwhelming. It wasn't time to leave yet. They'd made a home here. They were safe from the cold.

But of course, if they had to leave, they'd be fine. They had money saved this time, and they wouldn't be running away. Rose closed her eyes against the memories. It was unnerving the way they came back at times, just as strong as when it all happened. She hid those moments from Jack. There was no reason to burden him with it; he couldn't do anything.

The knock startled her. Rose hesitated. Jack said not to get up, and even more than that, walking was excruciatingly painful. There was another knock. "Who would be at our door?" she asked aloud. It could be their boss. Or something happened to Jack. It didn't sound urgent, but she couldn't very well ignore it, could she? "I'll be right there," she called. She pulled herself to her feet, wincing. Using the wall for support, Rose hopped to the door.

She could only stare at Andrew. "Yes?" she said.

He held an envelope. His eyes widened. "Rose, are you alright?' he asked, his voice tinged with concern. He shoved the envelope in his pocket. There was nothing in it anyway; he brought it only as a pretense.

"I'm fine," she replied. She held to the door frame, putting all her weight on her good foot.

"You don't look fine."

"I assure you I am," Rose said. "What can I do for you?"

"First of all, you can get off your feet. That ankle must be hurting you terribly."

"It really isn't so bad," she lied.

"Rose, please don't pretend on my account. Let me help you." His arm was around her before she could protest. Rose found herself being steered toward the couch. "I can manage," she said.

"It's no trouble."

"It isn't for me either," she said.

Rose couldn't help feeling relieved when she was back in her former position on the couch. "Did you need something?" she asked.

"It can wait," Andrew said. "I won't trouble you with it now."

"Really, I can handle-"

"No, you just concentrate on getting better," he said. "There's nothing for you to worry about."

"Well, if that's all," she said. "I hope you won't mind my not seeing you to the door."

"Of course not. I'm sorry to have disturbed you.'

"You couldn't have known," Rose said.

"Do you need anything?"

"Not at all. Jack will be home in a couple of hours. I can make it until then."

"Well, at least you aren't out in this cold, working," Andrew said. "That's no place for a girl like you."

The comment irritated her, but Rose let it pass. "Come back later if you like and talk to Jack about whatever you came for," she said.

"Yes, I'll do that," Andrew said. "In the meantime, if you need anything, you can always call up at the hotel for me. I'd be happy to run down."

'Thank you, but I'm sure that won't be necessary. I have Jack after all," Rose said.

"Yes. Of course you do."

….

Rose forced herself to stay on the couch when Jack came home. Cold blew in alongside him. He bent down to kiss her, and she pulled him closer. "You're freezing, Jack," she said.

"It's pretty cold out there." He grinned. "I'll be warm before long."

"I should've made you some tea."

"No, you're fine where you are," he said. "I'll put the kettle on, and we'll have lunch in here."

"I can help," she offered.

"No."

They used the side table to eat. "Are you making progress?" Rose asked.

Jack nodded. "I got a lot done this morning."

"Maybe you shouldn't go back out then. It's so cold."

"Have to," he said. "This has to be finished on time. We only have a few more days. For some reason."

"It's a bit odd, isn't it?" She took his hand and held it between hers. He was still cold to the touch. "Don't stay out too long," she said. "Please?"

"I won't," he promised. "You gotta stay right here, though."

"I did get up for a minute," she said. "There was someone at the door."

"Who?"

"Andrew," she said. "He came to give us a message or so he said."

Was that suspicion he heard in her tone? Jack kept his voice light. "What was it?" he asked.

"He never told me. When he saw I was hurt he wouldn't talk about anything else. He was very nice, but it felt a bit…." She hesitated.

"It felt what?"

"I'm being ridiculous," she said. "Overreacting."

"You should trust your instincts, Rose," Jack said.

He was right. Hadn't she told herself that very thing? She didn't trust her instincts in New York, and look what happened. Rose felt her throat tighten. She let out a breath, releasing the thoughts with it. "You're right, Jack," she said. "He didn't do anything. I just thought it was strange. He's been friendly, but there's no reason for him to bring us messages. Why is he still here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, everyone else is gone," she said. "We're supposed to be closing up the hotel in a few days. We can't do that if he's here."

"I hadn't really thought of that," he said. Andrew's presence was a problem in more ways than he'd realized. And there was Cal and Ruth to consider. How much longer before Rose discovered them? And what would happen when she did? Jack wondered what Andrew was planning. Ruth was involved, but they had to know springing her on Rose would be a mistake. He could tell her, but would that just upset her for no reason? She'd be more upset if she found out he knew and didn't tell her, though.

"Rose?"

"Yes?" She smiled, and Jack's heart lifted. "I won't work long," he said. "We'll have tea and read later, if you want."

"I'd like that." She gave his hand a squeeze. "You've felt so far away lately."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to."

"I know," Rose said. "Jack, if something's bothering you, you can tell me. I'll help."

"You being here's more than enough, Rose," Jack said. "Trust me."

….

He had to tell her and soon. Jack finished the wall he was working on and gathered the painting supplies. His hands were nearly numb. He cleaned the brushes hastily, leaving flecks of paint on them. It wasn't something he normally would have done, but it was too cold, and his head was too full to care.

Jack's body hurt when it hit the warmth in the house. He found Rose still on the couch. "See, I didn't move," she said. "Just like I promised."

"I'll make us some tea, and then I'll take a look at your ankle," he said.

"Maybe you should have a bath first," she said. "You need to get warm again."

"I'm fine," he said cheerfully.

"Get yourself a blanket," Rose called after him.

Their house was snug, but keeping every room warm was a challenge. They left the radiator on in the kitchen for the bird, but all the other rooms stayed cold unless they were going to be in them for a while. There was still a chill in the living room even after a day of heat. The bathroom was never warm. They relief on the momentary temperature boost from the water to get them into the next room.

Jack came back with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a mug in each hand. "For you," he said.

"Thank you. I'll stop mothering you now."

"I don't mind," he said. "When you're on your own as much as me you forget what it's like to have people care."

"You had a lot of friends, didn't you? In all your stories you're always meeting people."

"It's not the same," he said. "Not like you, Rose."

"As long as you don't think of me as a mother," she said with a laugh.

He grinned. "Not as my mother."

"But as someone's?"

"Eventually, maybe," he said. "Not now. You don't want—"

"No," Rose said. "I'm not ready for that. We're still learning how to be together, and I'm learning how to be on my own. I have to be good at taking care of myself first."

"I'm almost glad I didn't meet you sooner."

She gave him a puzzled look. "Why?"

"Because a younger me wouldn'tve been right for you," Jack said. "I probably would have loved you, but I probably woulda hurt you too."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"I just-" His blue eyes were thoughtful. "I really wanted to be loved," he said. "You know? I got lost in those girls, thinking they'd be the one, and I could love them. They knew better. I wasn't ready. I wanted to be. I tried to be. They were all older," he added. "They were nice enough to help me learn."

"I should thank them for your skills," Rose said. She laughed nervously when the implication of her words sank in. "Jack, I didn't mean—Well, there is that."

"I'm glad I could share them with you," Jack said. He paused, letting her choose whatever meaning she liked. "Let's look at that ankle," he said.

…

By the next morning the bruises had faded somewhat, and her ankle was back to normal size. Jack examined it carefully and found nothing to cause alarm. "It's looking a lot better," he said.

"So, you won't mind if I come and help you today."

"Rose, you really-"

"Jack, I really need to help," she said. "We have to finish the painting, and with me out there it will take half the time. For a decorative doll of a girl I'm rather handy with a paintbrush."

"Alright," Jack said. "I won't argue with you. But you'll take a break if your ankle hurts too much?"

"I promise."

Swathed in layers of wool and flannel, they set out, tensing their bodies against the cold. They worked in silence at first, their focus on making as much progress as possible as quickly as possible. They forgot about lunch, and by the time Rose's stomach alerted her it was already past four, and the sun was sinking behind the threes. She sat down on the grass, suddenly exhausted. Jack dropped down next to her. "We'll be finished tomorrow," he predicted.

"Do you really think so?"

"We just had that wall left," he said, pointing. "See?"

"It seemed like more this morning," Rose said.

"It was." Smiling, he put his arm around her and kissed her head. Warmth rushed over her. She felt his pride in her, and unlike in the past, Jack's wasn't something that made her want to hide. One man's opinion didn't mean everything, not even Jack's, but she felt good anyway. Somehow, Jack always made her feel good.

….

There was a note pinned to their door. "I hope it's another invitation," Jack said jokingly.

"I don't."

He scanned the paper. "Better that than this," he said, handing it to her.

Rose's face fell as she read. "They can't expect us to do all of this by next week. We haven't even finished the first list. Some of these things don't even need to be done," she cried indignantly.

"I don't think that matters, Petal."

"Well, it should," she said. "I know they pay us well, but this is absurd. We're only two people!"

"At least they're paying us," Jack said. "Trust me, I've done a lot more for a lot less."

"That doesn't make it right," she grumbled as they went into the kitchen. "We should speak to Richard about this."

"That's a nice idea," he said. "But he won't care. You know that. He made the list."

"I'm being a spoiled brat again, aren't I?" Rose said.

"No."

"You don't have to lie," she said. "I understand how the world works, Jack. Really, I do, but that doesn't mean I accept it. Whether he'll listen to us or not, these expectations aren't reasonable."

"They're not," Jack agreed. "And I love the way you want to fight. I wish we could. We'll figure something out."

…

The worked all through the following day and the next. They were stiff with cold by the time they finally made it home. Shivering, Rose sat next to the radiator, still in her coat and gloves. Jack leaned against her. "We can't keep doing this, Jack," she said. "We aren't even close to being finished with everything." Angry tears filled her eyes, and a lump welled up in her throat. She didn't know where they came from, but she didn't fight them. As she cried, a weight began to lift.

"Don't cry, Rose-Petal," Jack said, pulling her into his arms.

"I just-" She struggled to speak. "It feels like things keep being set against us deliberately. I know this isn't so bad, not really, but it isn't how I thought our lives would be."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Rose wiped her eyes. "It isn't you. And _this_, that's me being hysterical. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"You're tired. We both are. And hungry."

"Why don't you go have a bath?" she said. "Get warm, and I'll make dinner."

"You sure?"

She nodded. "I'm fine now. I guess I just needed that moment. You don't stop being a spoiled brat all at once."

"You aren't a spoiled brat, Rose. Maybe you were," Jack said. "But you've grown so much."

"Go on," she said. "Dinner will be ready when you get out."

Rose brushed her hair back with her fingers. She splashed water on her face. Crying helped, but she still felt an urge to scream, to rail against everything going wrong in their lives. It was a familiar urge, and one she never expected to feel again. It was frightening. How could she be so happy with Jack and yet this upset all at once? It was naïve, but part of her had truly believed everything would be fine as long as she was with him. Even after all their struggles, she held to that belief, but now, whether she liked it or not, she had to accept that love couldn't solve every problem. No matter how much she tried to tell herself otherwise.

…

Jack woke up with a start. At first he thought he was still in the nightmare. It was bitterly cold, even with Rose in his arms. He looked closely to make sure it was really her. She was shivering, but otherwise, normal. He hurried over to the radiator. It was cold as ice. He checked the other room. The kitchen was warm. The living room heat came on fine. Doing his best not to disturb her, he set about fixing the bedroom heat. It took a few tries, but he got it going again.

"I'll hafta look at that in the morning," he said, climbing back in bed. Without letting himself think, he reached over and turned off the alarm clock. They had at least a dozen chores to do the next day, but Jack didn't care. The old impulsiveness came over him again. They'd throw out the schedule, for a day at least. They'd been working almost nonstop, and it was showing, both in the appearance of the hotel, and in them. Rose dismissed her outburst, but her tears convinced Jack. They needed this. They needed one day, at least.

**AN: This week's second chapter is a little late. I'll try to be get back on track next week. I've been so busy lately. Thank for reading!**


	23. Chapter 23

It was mid-morning when Rose woke up. Their room was warm; the blankets were cocooned around her, disguising the empty half of the bed. The smell of fresh pancakes wafted in as the door opened. Jack kissed her cheek, earning a smile.

"You're awake," he said. "And just in time for breakfast."

"Breakfast? Isn't it a bit late for that?" Rose stretched her arms above her head. "Why is it so late, Jack?"

"I decided we'd take the day off," he said.

"Take the day off?"

"Yeah. We needed one."

"But Jack, we can't waste time," she protested. "There's so much to do. That new list-"

"It can wait," Jack said. "You're exhausted, and so am I."

"I'm not sure that matters."

"Sure it does," he said. "Rose, tell me you don't feel better."

"I did have a good night's sleep. I _do_ feel better, but-"

"No." He kissed her again. "We're not worrying about any of that today. It's just us."

Rose gave him a hesitant look. "You mentioned breakfast?"

"Just made it," he said.

"I smelled pancakes."

"There's a whole stack," he replied cheerfully. "I warmed up the syrup the way you like it."

"Jack, you didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

…..

"It amazes me how well you make these," Rose said.

"Want another?"

"I've already had three," she said.

"So?" Jack put a pancake on her plate. "There's one left for each of us. You wouldn't want to waste them, would you?" His eyes sparkled.

"Well, since you went to so much trouble."

When she was finished, Rose leaned back in her chair. "That was wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Maybe we should do a few things today after all," she said. "There's still a few hours of daylight left."

"No." Jack shook his head. "We aren't doing anything."

"We're being awfully impulsive," she argued.

"I know. I figured it's been a while since we did something just because we want to. We deserve a little fun, don't you think?"

"What did you have in mind/" Rose asked.

He shrugged. "Whatever you want. It's freezing outside, so that kinda limits our options."

"I think we've had enough cold," she said. Virginia chirped, as if in agreement.

"Well, that settles it," Jack said.

"You haven't drawn much lately."

"I haven't really felt like it, much," he said.

"Is something wrong, Jack? You can tell me."

"I'm fine." Jack gave her a reassuring grin. 'Trust me. I've just had a lot to do these past few weeks. There just hasn't been time to even think about drawing."

"You have plenty of time today."

"You want me to draw?" Jack said.

"It's your day off. Why not?" Rose said. "I'll clear up in here. Go and draw for a while."

"Not much to draw, especially with you in here and me in there."

"Are you asking to draw me?" she said coyly.

He grinned. "I might be."

"I think I could allow that," she said.

"Oh, really?"

Their eyes met. Laughter flickered on his lips, but his eyes were serious. Rose saw desire in them and something else. It was the artist's interest in a subject, the plotting of the drawing and the tracing of each line and curve. Rose wondered how he managed to look at her both ways, sometimes at once. Did one side take over, or were they equal, each holding a little sway over him? "I'd like if you drew me," she said. "You haven't in a while."

"I know. It's a shame," he said.

"Jack, do you ever feel like we're losing something/"

"What do you mean?"

"With the way we live. I like it here. It's nice. I adore the house, and we've made a nice home. It's certainly better than what we had in New York," Rose said.

Jack drew in a sharp breath. "I'm sorry about that, Rose."

"It's alright," she said. "It doesn't matter. That wasn't your fault. What I mean is, do you think things are _too_ settled for us here?"

"If they are, it's only temporary," he said. "We're leaving next summer."

"We say that now, but will we actually go? Staying here would be so easy."

"Rose, are you afraid we'll stay?" he asked.

"I'm afraid after what happened in New York we'll remain where we feel safe," Rose said. "Maybe without even thinking about it. One extra month will become two and so on. Until one day, we wake up, and five years have done by, and we still haven't left."

"That's not gonna happen," Jack said. "Rose, trust me, we won't stay here if we don't want to. We'll leave next summer." He laid his hand on her shoulder. "We'll go somewhere warm," he went on. "Someplace that stays warm all year. With a beach and water you can see through all the way to the bottom."

"Are we going to a tropical island?"

"Maybe," he replied. "I hear they're nice. I've never been to one."

"Neither have I."

"I heard Tahiti smells like vanilla," he said. "The whole island. They grow it there."

"We could be vanilla farmers," Rose said.

"For a while. Until we move on."

"Jack, is it wrong to want the same kind of wandering life you had?" she asked. "Am I asking for too much?"

"No. I got to have it. Why shouldn't you?"

"You're so good to me, Jack," she said. "Thank you."

"Rose, you don't ever have to thank me for loving you," he said, leaning his forehead against hers.

Rose gave his hand a squeeze. "Set up for the drawing," she said. "I'll clear up in here."

…

In Cal's opinion, Andrew's plan was too slow. Rose would never leave Jack just because he made their lives more difficult. They would fight against it. They might leave town. Given Jack's history, that wasn't unlikely. But they wouldn't leave each other.

Andrew was convinced he was right, and Ruth agreed, though Cal wasn't supposed to know that. "The idea is to make her want her old life back," Andrew said. "To really make her see what a mistake marrying him was."

It made sense to Ruth. They'd stumbled onto a decent job with good pay, a nice play to live; with all that going for them, why would Rose want to leave? "If they didn't have any of that," Andrew said. "How would she feel? He'll never manage to provide for her. This was just a bit of luck."

"He never managed to provide for himself before," Ruth said.

"Exactly."

Andrew wrote out the second list and pinned it to their door. Richard didn't even know about it. He saw no need to tell him. Richard wasn't around much lately anyway, what with the season ending.

Andrew went out that morning expecting to see them hard at work, as usual, but to his dismay, they were nowhere in sight. The grounds were deserted. They hadn't gotten out their tools. His first thought was something happened to Rose. Maybe her ankle was worse. He felt a twinge of guilt; after all, he dug the hole. He hadn't cared which of them got hurt, though he'd been hoping for Jack. Surely she wouldn't be pleased at having to nurse him all over again, and this time, with all those chores hanging over her head. The stress would be too much.

Of course, perhaps being injured herself would work just as well. With Jack off all day working, as he no doubt would be, Rose would be left to fend for herself. She'd need someone to turn to, a sympathetic ear. Andrew intended to be that ear.

Only, the plan wasn't working. They were supposed to be out here, cold and miserable, but they weren't. How could he prove his point now?

But then again, if they weren't working, perhaps there was another tactic he could try. It was a bit extreme. He hadn't planned to do it yet, but maybe now was the right time after all.

….

Jack promised himself he'd tell her by the end of the day. It wasn't right to keep this from her.

"In here?" Rose said, as she came into the bedroom.

"It's warm in here," he replied.

"Do you want me to get dressed?"

"I like you in that," he said.

"_That_ is a flannel nightgown."

"I like it." The corners of Jack's mouth twitched. "I can see your legs."

"Jack." Rose shook her head. "You can barely see them."

"It's enough."

"Are you going to draw me or not, Mr. Big Artiste?" she said with mock impatience.

His mouth twitched again. "Come over here," he said softly. He pointed to the chair by the window. "Sit there."

"How do you want-"

"Put your chin on your hand," Jack instructed. "Lean toward the window but look toward me."

"Like this?" Rose asked.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "That's perfect."

"And stay still," she said.

"Try."

His mind cleared as he drew. Gradually, the lines became shapes, and the shapes became Rose. Jack glanced at her. She wore a serene expression. Her eyes were light. She looked rested. Her hair was a bit mussed, but he liked it that way. He didn't often draw the same people more than once, but she was different. There was always a new angle to see her from, and the ones he already knew seemed to never get old. Jack could draw Rose every day for the rest of his life.

"What is it?" she said.

"Nothing.'

"You were looking at me…rather intently," she said.

"I kinda have to," he pointed out jokingly.

"More than necessary."

"What's more?" Jack said.

Rose was clothed, but she felt naked. There was something in the way he looked at her; it wasn't intrusive, but it was obvious he saw past the surface. Clothes had nothing to do with it. Jack saw a part of her no-on else ever had, a part Rose doubted she would have shown anyone else. She knew that almost since they first met; it wasn't a new feeling, and yet, it felt new. Or maybe it just never got old. They were lucky to be together.

"Finished," Jack said.

"Can I see?"

"Of course," he said.

"I have to come over there?" Rose said. He nodded. As she leaned over him, she added, "I like it. You did a wonderful job."

"I'm glad you think so." Jack looked up at her. "This is familiar."

"It is," she said. "Is this the part where I kiss you?"

"I thought I kissed you.'

Her lips brushed his. "Let's call it even," she suggested.

The kiss was soft. The last time they'd been in this pose there was need, to stay together, to go further, but now there was only gentleness.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you-Will you hold me?" Rose asked. "Just…"

Jack nodded. "I will."

They lay in the middle of the bed, arms around each other. "It looks cold out there," Rose said.

"That's why we're staying in here."

"We can't do that forever," she said. "Tomorrow—"

"Don't worry about tomorrow, Rose. It'll come no matter what we do. Just enjoy right now."

"I envy the way you can do that," she said. "The way you live so fully in the moment."

"It's not always easy," Jack replied. He thought of the nightmare waiting to swallow him, the guilt and fear that threatened to overtake him, all the time now it seemed. "Sometimes enjoying the moment is the only way to survive," he said. "If you let yourself go any further…." He trailed off.

"You can tell me, Jack."

"I know," he said. He kissed her. It was a good time. He might as well tell her everything. "Rose?"

She yawned. "Yes?"

"It can wait," Jack said. "Let's just rest here for a while."

…

"Jack?"

"Hmmm?" he murmured sleepily.

"Are you awake?" Rose asked in a soft voice.

At some point darkness had fallen. She didn't remember going to sleep. They'd talked until their eyes closed. The radiator sputtered as the heat came on.

"I'll have to look at that thing again," Jack said.

"Do you know something about radiators?"

"No," he said. "But I got it to work last night. There can't be much to it."

"So confident," she said.

"I try."

"Jack, what were you dreaming about?"

"I don't remember," he said. "Why/"

Rose sat up. She leaned against the pillows and looked down at him. "You were afraid," she said.

"I don't remember."

"Would you tell me if you did?" she asked.

"If there was anything to tell," he said. Jack sat up, facing her. "Rose, my dreams, they don't matter. But…there is something I need to tell you."

"What is it?"

"I shoulda told you this sooner," Jack said. "I wasn't sure how. I didn't know how you'd react."

"How I'd react to what? Jack, what's going on?"

"You know how you thought it was strange when Andrew came by here yesterday?" he said. She nodded. "Well, I think-It's gonna sound crazy, but I think he's after you. He's got this idea that if he shows up enough, you'll be interested in him."

It wasn't so different from what Rose thought, but hearing him say it was unnerving. "Why do you think that?"

"He pretty much told me," Jack said. "That's why he invited us to the party. He wanted to show you what you're missing. And when Cal came to talk to me-"

"_Cal_ came to talk to you?" Rose said incredulously. "When? What could he possibly have to say?"

"It wasn't long ago. He told me he wanted to warn me about Andrew, about what he's doing," Jack said. "I didn't believe him at first."

"I should hope not."

"But it makes sense," he went on. "I think maybe he's the reason you got hurt the other day."

"You think Andrew dug that hole?"

"I don't know. Maybe," Jack said. "With the way he's acted and what Cal told me, it seems like something he'd do."

"Jack, do you hear yourself?" Rose said. "You're relying on information Cal gave you. Of all people!"

"I know. It's crazy. And maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there. I'd like that, Rose, really. But there's more."

"What?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know.

"Your mother's here."

Rose stared at him. "That can't be true."

"It is," Jack said. "I've seen her. She's here, for some reason, and Andrew knows. I saw them together."

"Where?"

"Outside," he said. 'Watching us."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rose demanded.

"I am telling you, Rose."

"No, before. Why didn't you tell me before, Jack? Didn't you think this concerned me too?"

"Of course I thought it concerned you. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't," Jack said. "I'm sorry. I never meant to lie to you. I guess I was waiting to see what happened. I thought…." _I thought you'd leave_, he added silently. _I'm just waiting for it._

"I can't believe this," Rose said.

"Neither can I."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me sooner," she said. "Since we met, our relationship has been based on trust. Jack, I've always trusted you."

"And you can. That hasn't changed."

"You've been keeping things from me," she said, shaking her head. She went over to the closet and took out a dress.

"Not to hurt you," he insisted. Jack watched as she pulled garments from drawers and put them on. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"For a walk."

"It's freezing-"

"I know," Rose said. "I won't be long. I need some air."

He grabbed the back of her sleeve. "Rose-"

"Don't, Jack,' she said. "Please. I need to be alone."

…..

The wind whipped her hair back. Rose crossed her arms, pulling her coat tighter, and wished she'd thought to wear a scarf. The sky was clear; the moon glowed overhead, lighting her way. As if it mattered. She didn't know where she was going. Without thinking, she turned toward the hotel. Only two sets of windows were lit. The shadows gave it an eerie look. She went around to the front door. It was unlocked. Rose wasn't sure if she wanted it to be. Standing there, her hand on the knob, she realized she intended to go in. But did she really want to know what was inside?

Rose looked over her shoulder, back toward the house. It was too far away to see. She pictured Jack in the kitchen, making something to eat, putting away his art supplied. She felt his pain. It was overwhelming. Guilt and regret. Fear. Some of it was about her, but not all of it. Some of it was old. Was he always carrying this around?

Why hadn't she sensed it before? They were so close. Rose thought she picked up on all his moods. At times, they seemed to read each other's thoughts. It must have taken a great deal of effort to hide all this from her. That's why he felt so far away lately. Steeling herself, she went inside. She couldn't help him yet, not until she found out the truth. All of it.

….

Rose already knew the truth, or most of it. She just didn't want to accept it. Her own instincts weren't enough, even now. A lifetime of learning to distrust them isn't easily overcome.

Jack ran to the door at the first knock. He threw it open. "Rose?" His face fell. "Oh. It's you," he said. "What do you want?"

"What kind of greeting is that?" Andrew said.

"It's the nicest you'll get from me," Jack replied shortly. "Do you want something? My wife isn't here."

"Where is she?"

"That's not your concern," Jack said.

"I consider her my friend," Andrew said.

"I don't. I doubt she does. And _you_ shouldn't."

"Really?" Andrew said.

"Are you still playing this game?" Jack said. "I know what you want. What you're trying to do. It's not gonna work. She knows everything. Leave us alone. I won't ask again."

"I came to find out why neither of you did any work today," Andrew said, as if Jack hadn't spoken. "And to inform you that if it continues, you'll both be let go. You have too many responsibilities to be taking days off without cause."

Realization shown in Jack's blue eyes. "It's you," he said. "You're behind it. You're the one assigning us all these ridiculous jobs." He laughed. "What, do you think if it's too hard here she'll leave me? For me?" He laughed again. "I can't believe I didn't see it." Before Andrew could reply, Jack shoved past him. He broke into a run. "Rose!" he yelled.

**AN: Thanks to everyone who's been following this story! Unfortunately, it's reaching its end. The time just feels right. **


	24. Chapter 24

Rose slipped inside, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. The lobby was dark. She moved quickly, uncomfortable in the gaping room. The lights she had seen were coming from the second floor, two rooms at opposite ends of the corridor. She didn't let herself think. She knocked on the first door she reached.

Rose didn't know what she expected. There weren't many options, and yet, she stepped back, startled by the sight of Cal. He looked her over for a moment, not quite believing what he saw either. "Well," he said. "To what do I owe this honor?"

"Did you speak to Jack?" Rose demanded.

"Forgoing the usual pleasantries, are we?"

"Just tell me. Did you?" she said.

"I assume he's told you. Why don't you believe him?" Cal said, looking amused.

"I do believe him."

"You wouldn't be here if you did," he pointed out.

"Why would you do that? He said you came to warn him about Andrew. I trust _Jack_," Rose said. "But not you."

"Is it so difficult to believe I would do a good thing?"

"Yes," she said. "I find that almost impossible to believe."

"There's no need to spare my feelings, Rose, really. Tell me exactly how you feel."

"I believe I already have," Rose said coldly. "Or was I unclear?"

"I did go and talk to him," Cal said, ignoring her comment. "You may not believe me, but I told him what Andrew's up to. He can't be trusted. He'll do anything to get what he wants."

"Sounds like someone else I know," she said. He chuckled. "Why?" she asked. "You don't want us together."

"I don't want you with Andrew either. Let's say I oppose that union more."

"Oh, I see," Rose said. "This is about _us__." _

Cal shrugged. "Maybe. Partly. I also thought it would be fun to watch this thing unfold. I was curious to see whether Jack was up to the challenge."

"How dare you!" Rose spat. "Do you think you can just play with people's lives? You—" She raised her arm to hit him. He caught her by the wrist. He held her firmly but didn't hurt her. "There will be none of that," he said quietly.

"Only _you_ get to hit, right?"

"You pushed me into that," Cal said. "I warned you. You made your choice, Rose."

With an angry laugh Rose jerked out of his grasp. "And what a warning it was," she said. "Can't you leave us alone? We've tried to go about our lives. All of that, what happened, it's over now."

"Rose, it will never be over."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. "Do you intend to follow us around forever causing problems?"

Cal gave her a pained look. When he spoke it was with obvious patience. "It means I'll always want you, and I always want most what I can't have. Besides, from what I've heard, the two of you have no trouble finding problems. That business in New York was quite unfortunate."

Rose's cheeks went pale; her stomach felt sick. 'How do you know about that?" she gasped.

"Oh, Rose, I know everything." He shook his head. "Poor Jack. He wasn't up to the challenge then, was he? Probably thanking his lucky stars you stayed with him," Cal said. "But then again, where would you go? Back to me?"

"I'd rather die. I'd die with you anyway, eventually."

"I'm better than Andrew," he said. "At least I'm honest. I'm no Jack," he added mockingly. "But then again, who is?"

…

"Rose!" Jack ran frantically, searching for any sign of her. Blood pounded in his ears. Where could she be? The grounds were empty as far as he could tell. She wouldn't have left, would she? Jack turned back toward the house. Andrew was gone, but her bicycle was still there. So, she couldn't have gone far.

And then it hit him. The hotel. Of course. Cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner, Jack went off again.

The cold air burned his lungs. When he reached the front door, he doubled over, gasping. His cheeks were red. Jack shivered as he realized he hadn't bothered to put on a coat. The door was ajar. It wasn't much warmer inside.

"Rose?" he called. Silence.

Jack made his way up the stairs. "Rose? Are you here?"

He was still shivering. He jammed his hands in his pockets and squared his shoulders. Which rooms were lit? He couldn't remember. It didn't matter anyway. Only Cal and Ruth were left. If she were here, she was most likely with one of them.

"Rose?" he called again, uncertain this time. If she came here for answers, it meant she didn't believe him. She didn't trust him. It was his own fault. Jack's throat was tight. How could he let this happen? He felt the familiar grip of panic overtaking him. If he lost Rose….What _if_? He _had_ lost her.

_You never had her. How could you?_

It wasn't true. Jack fought the voice; he tried to block it out, but his mind spun faster and faster, with all the reasons he was wrong.

_Everyone leaves you. And why shouldn't they? You ruin the lives of all the people you care about. Look at how many people you've killed. _

"I didn't kill them," Jack insisted through clenched teeth.

_You didn't help them. You weren't there. You only thought about yourself. Just like you did with Rose. What happened was your fault. _

"No. I couldn't…."

Jack stumbled down the stairs. His throat seemed to have closed; he struggled for breath. His heart raced. The cold night washed over him, and he welcomed it.

…

Rose walked deeper into the woods. She felt the gravel path under her shoes. It was the only way to be sure she hadn't wandered off it completely. The trees were bare, but their branches were thick, blocking out the moon's glow. She wasn't sure why she came this way; she just knew she wasn't ready to go home yet.

Rose felt empty and yet full all at once. The evening's revelations stirred up so many emotions, and now she was wrung out from it, but still, the feelings kept coming. They weren't all hers. She was among the trees before she realized how many came from Jack.

Rose walked on, hoping to escape. It was too much. She couldn't be expected to handle this. Wasn't everything she felt on her own enough? _Must_ they be so tangled up in one another?

Her shoulders trembled. Warm tears streamed down her face. The pain was exquisite. Sharp. She hugged herself, sobbing. "Jack!"

Suddenly, the darkness pressed in one her. The woods were full of sounds. Leaves crunching. Twigs snapping. Anything could be out there. Rose wiped her eyes. This was absurd. What was she doing? She turned and ran back the way she came. Each footstep echoed louder than the last. Panicking, Rose ran faster. "Jack?" she called. "Jack!"

…

He was on the ground, head between his knees, rocking back and forth. He shivered, oblivious to the cold. His teeth chattered as he changed, "No. No. No." It was so hard to breathe. Jack didn't hear Rose calling.

She dropped to the ground next to him. "Jack, what happened?" she cried. Rose took hold of his shoulders and lifted his head. He blinked, as if she were too bright to look at. "Are you alright?" she asked. "Are you hurt?" She ran her hands over him, looking for signs of injury but found none. "Talk to me, Jack, please!"

"Rose."

"Yes?"

"I'm so cold," Jack said.

"You need to get inside," Rose said, helping him to his feet. "Why aren't you wearing a coat?"

"I forgot."

"Come on," she said, putting her arm around him. "Let's get you warm, and then we'll talk."

"You're cold too."

"I'm fine," she said. "It's you I'm worried about." Rose slipped off her coat and placed it around his shoulders. It wasn't a perfect fit, but it would do.

….

She turned the heat up in their room. When Jack emerged from the tub it was as warm as summer. Before he could speak Rose ushered him into bed. She piled blankets around him. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Better. Thanks," he said.

"Do you need anything?"

"No," he said.

His eyes were feverish. The flush in his cheeks hadn't gone away. Rose pressed her lips to his forehead. It was hot. "You need something to bring your temperature down," she said.

Jack swallowed his medicine dutifully.

"Did you eat anything?" Rose asked.

His voice was flat. "I'm not hungry."

"At least have some tea," she pleaded.

Jack watched her go. He closed his eyes. He didn't fully understand what happened. He didn't have the technical language to describe it. Now, he felt wrung out. He wanted to sleep, but sleep didn't offer much comfort.

"Here," Rose said gently. "Drink."

Obediently, Jack let her pour the warm tea down his throat. "It's good," he said. "It's the pomegranate kind, right?"

She nodded. "Your favorite."

"Thank you."

"Jack, do you feel able to talk about what happened?" she asked. She brushed hair out of his eyes, "I'm sorry for leaving you," she said. "I needed to think. I didn't find out anything I didn't already know."

"I should've told you," Jack said. "I—I thought I could be prepared somehow or-"

"Prepared for what? You talk like something horrible is coming."

"Prepared for when you go back," he said. "For when you leave."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jack." Rose pressed his hand between both of hers. "I love you. I married you. What else do you need to believe I'm not leaving?"

"Everyone else does," Jack said.

"What?"

"Everyone leaves," he said. "I let them die. I bring them to it. Without me, they'd be fine."

"What are you talking about? You've never killed anyone."

"Sure I have," he said. "Fabrizo died because of me. _I_ won those tickets. I got him on the ship. I got him to leave Sicily. He was fine before he met me. I had a chance to live, and I took it. I didn't think about anyone else. I got to be with you. Alive and with you," he said. "Why? Why me, Rose? I don't deserve it."

"You can't blame yourself for what happened," Rose said. "It wasn't your fault. There was no way to save everyone. There weren't enough boats. You didn't cause that. Would you rather have died?"

"No. But I don't feel like I should be alive either."

"Oh, Jack, of course you should be," she said. "I don't know why it happened. It's not fair. All those people." She closed her eyes and held his hand to her cheek. "But your dying wouldn't have saved them."

"It might have. My place in the boat coulda been for someone else," he argued.

"So could mine. Would it have been better for us to die together?" Rose asked. "Drowned or frozen? Is that what you'd prefer?"

"No!" No, Rose. I wanted you to make it. You had to. You still have so much living to do. I'd done enough."

"I don't believe that," she said. "Not for one second, Jack, do I believe you were ready to die."

"I accepted the possibility. I survived one," he said. "Surviving again was a lot to ask for."

"Your parents."

"It was my fault," Jack said. "I got sick first. But I got over it. A coupla days, and I was fine. They….I don't know why they weren't."

"I don't either. No-one knows why some people die and others live. But I do know they loved you. They still love you," Rose said. "They wanted you to live."

"I could handle it at first," he said, a faraway look in his blue eyes. "After the sinking, it started coming back, but I had you." Jack smiled sadly. "I had hope, and then…." His smiled faded. "It's all been my fault."

"That isn't true."

"I don't know what happened tonight," he said. "I went after you. It was like all my nightmares came to life. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I just kept hearing over and over all the things I'd done, all the people I'd hurt."

"You've never hurt me, Jack."

"What if I have? I was so sure I could make you happy, but what if I ruined your life?"

"You have to let this go," Rose pleaded. "Please, Jack, believe me. My life is better with you in it. Stop carrying this guilt. It's only hurting you."

…..

She was still there in the morning. His fever was gone, but she was still there. Jack turned down the heat. Rose slept in her clothes. Her coat was crumpled on the floor. He picked it up, smoothing the fabric between his hands. He hung it in the closet. It was blue wool, plainer than the one she had before, but still pretty.

He fed the bid. She chirped gratefully, and he smiled.

"Jack?" Rose stood in the doorway, barefoot, curls flat on one side from sleep. "Are you alright?"

He took down a box of tea. "I didn't have any dreams last night," he said. "Nothing."

"That's good, right?" she said. "Here, let me do that," she added, taking the box from his hand.

"We need to talk," he said. His fingertips brushed her hand. "I know," she said. She stepped past him, not dismissively, just to finish the task. Jack lay his head on her shoulder and watched as she filled the kettle and put it on to boil. "I couldn't tell you," he said.

Rose knew he didn't mean about Andrew and her mother. "Why not?" she asked.

"I needed to be strong for you. For us," Jack said.

"I already thought you were strong."

"Would you have kept thinking that if you knew?" he asked.

"Jack, I don't expect you to be invulnerable," she said. "I don't want you to be like that."

"I didn't want you to think I couldn't handle things. After New York, I knew I had to prove you could trust me all over again."

"No, you didn't," Rose said, shaking her head. "It was never you I didn't trust."

"I don't know where it came from," Jack said. "I kept thinking how I'd ruined your life. I ruin everything. I don't know why I got to live," he went on. "It seems like I always do, and I can't save anyone else."

"You could blame me," Rose offered. "I saved you. I got you into a boat. Maybe you would've had a good chance on your own, without me dragging you down, but I kept us from finding out."

"You think you drag me down?"

"Wouldn't I?" she said. "Haven't I?"

"No." Jack gently laid his hand against her cheek. "I wouldn't trade knowing you for anything, Rose."

"Sometimes I remember," she said softly. "What happened."

He didn't have to ask what she meant. "You do?"

"I don't want you to worry, so I don't say anything," Rose explained. "Sometimes it comes over me; I can't stop it. I don't know why. I'm so afraid when that happens. It's like I'm reliving it."

"Oh, Rose," he breathed.

"We've both been wrong," she said.

…

No mention was made of going to work. They both knew their life there was over; it didn't need to be said. It ended when Jack fell off the roof, when Andrew saw Rose for the first time. Everything that came next was just bringing them closer, only they didn't know it at the time. Permanence was an illusion, and illusions were expensive. Only the privileged had them. Jack had told himself that often enough over the years. Know the world. Know the way it really is.

But then Rose came, bringing with her dreams of forever, igniting something stronger than any other woman before her. If nothing lasted, why had he bothered looking for love? Why waste time and energy on something only to lose it? The truth was, Jack never lost faith, not entirely. Love kept him going. The hope of it. The love he felt for live. Many people profess gratitude for each day, but Jack _felt_ it every morning when he woke up.

He twirled a pencil between his fingers, mentally adding up their savings. There was even more than he thought. Plenty for travel. They could get by for a couple months if they had to. He looked around. What would they take? Most of what they had wasn't really theirs; it came with the house. Books. Clothes. His drawings and supplies. The bird. Looking at her made him sad. There was no way they could travel with a pet bird. It was too cold to set her free; she'd die. Jack remembered the day he gave her to Rose, how happy she'd been. Things felt permanent then. Giving her a bird wasn't a risk. Now, he wondered if it wasn't a mistake, if he shouldn't have known better.

Rose brushed her fingers through his hair. It was like silk. She pressed her face to the back of his head, breathing him in. Her voice was muffled. "We have to leave."

"Looks that way," he said.

"If we could stay, would you?" she asked.

"Would you?"

"No," she said. She sat down next to him.

"Are you going to talk to your mother?"

"I thought about that," Rose said. "What I would say. What she'd say. I realized I don't want to see her. Not yet. If there's any hope of us getting along, seeing her now will end it. I can forgive what happened with Cal. I can even understand it. These months with you have been wonderful, but they've been hard as well, harder than I ever imagined. In some ways," Rose went on. "She was right. I can't blame her for wanting to protect me and herself. At least Cal was the devil she knew."

"But?"

"But this plot, if it can be called that," she said. "I can't forgive it, not now. If she only found us to make sure I was alright….That would be one thing. At some point my life has to be my own. Maybe this has all been a mistake, but it's mine. No-one can come in with a magic wand or bag of money and change things back to the way they were before, and I don't want them to."

"Do you think this was a mistake?" Jack asked.

Rose held his hands in hers. She gazed into his eyes. They were twin oceans, beautiful but vast. She could swim forever and still not make it to the bottom. Rose wanted to try anyway. "No," she said. "I wouldn't change a day of our lives together. I think there will always been problems to face, but we can do it. We needed this time. Life was telling us to figure out what we wanted.

"Do you know what you want, Rose?"

She squeezed his hand. "I always knew."

"So did I," Jack said.

They shared a smile, hands clasped. "I'll make breakfast," Rose offered.

The End

**AN: Yes, this is it. I've known the end was coming for a while, but I wasn't sure exactly what it would look like, and then it just came to me. I hope you enjoyed the story. Thanks for reading everyone!**


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